


Love, Honor, and Obey

by ConstantWriter85



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes AU, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Childbirth, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, Murder, POV Bucky Barnes, Pregnancy, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Smut, Stalking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Whump, injured reader, mob!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 82,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantWriter85/pseuds/ConstantWriter85
Summary: Faced with blackmail and the loss of your beloved charity, you’re forced to marry the son of your mobster father’s friend, James Barnes, in order to keep the peace between the families. Little did you know, James had fallen in love with you at first sight. As he tries to woo his new wife, a new rival family comes into play, threatening all you’ve come to hold dear.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 240
Kudos: 566





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Language, Angst, Blood/Torture, Murder
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Dusk had settled, and the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge were twinkling merrily in the gathering darkness. Things were not merry, however, in the dingy warehouse situated along the extreme edge of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Light from a single overhead bulb illuminated the grisly scene below. A scene, unfortunately, that these walls had seen far too often. A man sat tied to a chair, blood seeping over the edges of the duct tape and dripping onto the floor. His head lolled from side to side as he shook it insistently, swearing up and down that the botched hand-off wasn’t his fault.

That he wasn’t a rat.

Of course, _they_ already knew he was. The man’s life had been over the moment they drove through the gate—they just wanted to see what else he knew before they disposed of him.

Outside, where the air was fresher and didn’t smell like blood and fear, two men leaned against the hood of a town car. The taller one was blond and built like a Greek god, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his handsome features. Steven Grant Rogers had known the man standing next to him since kindergarten, and the pair were as close as brothers.

James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky to his friends. The only son of George Barnes, the self-proclaimed king of Brooklyn. He was shorter than his friend, but not by much. Stormy blue eyes surveyed the scene in the warehouse irritation. He absently brushed at the pantleg of his immaculately tailored suit, the movement betraying the raw power beneath the fabric.

Bucky leaned back against the car with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“How many did we lose, Stevie?”

His second-in-command shook his head. “Twelve men. Fucking twelve, Buck. Pierce knew _exactly_ when that shipment would be arriving, and they got the drop on us. Our guys never stood a chance.”

“And the guns?”

“Gone.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched in frustration. This shit was getting out of control. The rivalry against Queens was bad enough, but this “Alexander Pierce,” the self-made Manhattan mobster who controlled the territory across the bridge…this was something else entirely. What had started out as white-collar crimes was getting bloody—fast.

“The sooner this merger happens, the better,” he said. “Shit’s gettin’ ugly.”

Steve laughed. “Merger. You mean your wedding?” He shook his head. “The man’s a cold-hearted bastard, that’s for sure. What kind of father sells off his only daughter in a business proposition?”

“The kind that’s tryin’ to save her from something worse,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly as a scream rang out behind them. “Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to yell. I just…I got a lot on my mind right now.”

“So you’ve really never even seen the girl?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not in person, no.”

Another scream, followed by the thud of wood hitting flesh. Both men stood and walked slowly into the warehouse, where the interrogation was quickly coming to a close.

Steve made a face. “Jesus, Jimmy…what a mess. I think he’s had it.”

“Who else knew what night the shipment was going out?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Nobody. Nobody, I swear…please…I didn’t tell nobody about it,” the man begged. Jimmy started to lift the bat again.

The bloody figure tied to the chair lifted his head and tried to open the eye that wasn’t glued shut. “I swear…I don’t know anything. N-Nobody knew about the shipment but m-me, Mr. Barnes, please. You…you gotta believe me.”

Bucky calmly reached into his jacket and pulled out his SIG Sauer P226.

“I believe you.”

His face was expressionless as he lifted the gun and fired.

The back of the man’s head dissolved in a shock of crimson and grey. He jerked once and slumped over, and Bucky watched as his blood soaked into the floor of the warehouse. It had been a necessity, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Find out who else he’s been talkin’ too, keep an eye on them. This _cannot_ happen again,” he said, his mouth a thin line as he glanced over at Jimmy.

Steve watched as his friend calmly holstered his gun and walked towards the waiting town car. For all outward appearances, Bucky looked cool and collected. Steve knew better, though. The man was seething underneath, the weight of each kill, each man lost weighing heavily on his soul.

“C’mon,” Steve said, clapping his friend on the back and trying to cheer him up. “You’ve got a wedding to get ready for tomorrow, and a blushing bride to meet.”

***

Two bodyguards were standing outside the door of the bridal suite.

Both dressed in black tie formalwear that disguised the lethality underneath, they stood there, unmoving and solemn, protecting the pre-marital squeals and titters of the bridal party within. The woman’s long red hair was tied into a loose braid. In contrast, the man’s short blond hair was fashioned into a faux-hawk.

_They look absurd, but I’ll be damned if I can’t come up with a better metaphor for how the rest of my life is going to play out._

Guns amongst the roses. Or, in this case, peonies.

You sighed to yourself. Time to buck up, girlfriend. This is _your_ wedding, after all, and you had a part to play—the starring role, in fact.

The girl in the mirror tried on a smile, but it felt wrong. It felt forced. She was pretty, that was for sure, but there was no light in her eyes. 

Not anymore.

There were flowers in your hair and lace on your gown, the tight bodice hugging your figure perfectly. If this were any other scenario, you would have felt beautiful. And you damn well should—you’d been primped and polished, painted and perfumed within an inch of your life. A designer gown, designer shoes, designer…well…everything.

Your father had spared no expense. This was his deal, his power play, and you were nothing but the fatted calf being offered up to the rival family.

Ex-rivals, you reminded yourself.

You sighed and reminded yourself why you were doing this. _Why_ you were marrying a man you’d never met—the son of your father’s now ex-rival.

James Buchanan Barnes.

At least they showed you a picture. He was handsome, that was for sure…okay, he was gorgeous. He looked like he had just stepped off the cover of GQ, and you were sure he had the body to match. You supposed you should be happy…he could have been fat, dumpy and twice your age.

What a lucky girl you were.

You’d have money, clothes, a nice house, a handsome husband…what girl wouldn’t dream of being in your shoes right now?

Not you.

You despised James. You’d never even met him, but he represented everything you hated about this life. The guns…the whores…the crime.

The murders.

You’d fled this life years ago, and your father had drawn you back in. _Forced_ you back in. And now, you were about to be married into it permanently—James Barnes, the only son of George Barnes, King of Brooklyn. James wasn’t just any old spoiled rich boy, either. Oh, no. He worked for his paycheck, as his father’s enforcer.

You knew exactly what _that_ meant.

You sighed again and touched up your lipstick, longingly eyeing the champagne. You refused to touch a drop though, you had a part to play, and you would play it to perfection to save the only thing you really cared about anymore. You’d need a clear head tonight.

Behind you, the bridesmaids chittered away happily, gushing over your dress, your hair, and how beautiful you looked.

_As if a single one of them actually gives a shit._

They weren’t your friends. You barely even knew them. They were the wives and daughters of your father’s men, and before last night you’d never even met them. Your real friends hadn’t been invited.

That didn’t matter though. That life was over for you now.

“All right, ladies, showtime!” the wedding planner said, popping his head in the suite. “And is the lovely bride ready? Oh my god, darling, you are stunning!”

You ignored his squeals, you girded yourself, packing each and every emotion into a tiny little box and shoving it down deep. A shy smile was painted on, quite appropriate for a blushing bride-to-be. You stood and accepted your bouquet from Marci…or Nancy…or whatever the hell her name was.

“I’m ready.”

***

**Two Weeks Ago**

“Y/N. I’m glad you could make it.”

_Is he frickin’ serious?_

Your father sat behind his desk, larger than life and twice as ugly, greeting you like this wasn’t the first time you’d seen or spoken to him in five years. The used to be a time where you were Daddy’s little girl, but those days had vanished once you found out what he did for a living.

The vanished the day they killed your mother.

Your father was none other than the infamous mobster Jacob Y/L/N, who lorded over Queens like it was his own personal playground.

You studied the man for a moment. There was a little more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair, and his shoulders slumped a bit. His eyes though, those were just as sharp and crafty as ever. They were the eyes of a shark on the prowl.

“Well gee, Dad, I wish I could say it’s a pleasure being here, but I didn’t have a choice, did I? Ivan here didn’t really take no for an answer.”

Your hair was messed and your shirt torn, but your father’s right hand man was sporting a new black eye, so you considered it a draw.

“It’s Evan,” the man growled.

“Whatever.”

“Cut the attitude, missy,” your father said. His patience was already thinning, and that didn’t bode well for this meeting.

_Kidnapping, but whatever, let’s not mince words here._

“Evan, leave us.”

“So long, Ivan…you might wanna put some ice on that…keep down the swelling,” you called after the retreating bodyguard.

Your father cleared his throat. “I see you haven’t lost your smart mouth.”

“And I see you haven’t lost the knuckle-dragger in the corner. Upgraded, maybe. Is there, like, a 1-800 number you call? Mouth-breathers-R-Us?”

“Enough, Y/N. We have business to discuss.”

“What, _exactly_ , about my lack of presence the past five years gave you any indication I would want to do ‘business’ with you,” you said, heavily emphasizing it with air quotes.

Your father didn’t say a word, he just flipped a file onto the desk in front of you. Cocking an eyebrow, you opened it.

James Buchanan Barnes. Well, he was certainly handsome enough. Perfect bone structure, devastatingly blue eyes. A real lady killer, this one. You flipped the page.

Oh yes, you thought he looked familiar. The one and only son of George Barnes, your father’s rival. You’d never met him, but James was a well-known playboy…and as lethal and brutal as he was handsome.

You flipped the folder back on the table. “He’s cute. Now, is there a reason for—”

“I’m glad you think he’s cute,” your father said, folding his hands on the desk. “Because he’s your fiancé.”

You blinked.

“In two weeks, you’re going to marry James. I hear he’s a nice boy, quite popular with the ladies, and he seems to have all the qualities that will make a good husband—"

You finally found your voice. “Excuse me, but are you _insane_?! You can’t make me marry someone against my will, that’s not even legal! Oh…sorry, forgot who I was talking to there for a second. Of course you don’t give a damn about it being legal—”

“Can it, Y/N. You’re not getting out of this. You’re—”

You pushed your chair back in disgust. “All right, I’ve had enough. This is a new low, even for you, Dad. Now, unless you’re gonna make Ivan drag me back here by my hair, I have better places to be.”

You stood and marched towards the door, but your father was quicker, blocking your way.

“Article 22 of the New York State Tax Law, section 157.2, subsection A, paragraph three.”

You frowned. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”

Your father had that look in his eye that he got when he knew he’d won, and you didn’t like where this was heading.

“Sophie’s Place.”

“Don’t—Don’t you say that name.”

It was the name of the women’s shelter you ran. You named it after your mother, and hearing her name again from his lips was like a curse. It was the reason you’d left this life in the first place, and your fists clenched as old memories were dredged up.

Jacob narrowed his eyes at you.

“ _Sophie’s Place_. That’s the name of your little charity, right? The thing you worked _so_ hard to build…the place you spend all of your spare time, so much that you don’t even have time for a boyfriend, or—let’s face it—a life?”

“What about it?” you growled.

“It seems like they haven’t paid their state taxes in a number of years,” he said, sitting back down at the desk.

Bonelessly, you slid into the chair opposite him. “That’s bullshit, I went over the records myself, I…” your eyes widened. “You _bastard_. You fucking asshole! You did something, didn’t you?”

“Language, Y/N. What’s done is done. What you need to know is that in two weeks’ time, the shelter will be shut down for failure to pay state taxes. I can stop that…if you marry James.”

“Why?” There were tears in your eyes now, but you didn’t even care.

“I need to end this rivalry between George and I. There’s a new family in play, Alexander Pierce. He’s ruthless and power hungry, and he’ll destroy everything I’ve built. George wants his son to settle down and raise a family—to get ready to take over the business. He needs a wife, and I need an alliance between the families.”

Your head was spinning. Never in your wildest dreams could you have thought your own father would stoop so low.

Still, there was an out here. You would marry James, save the shelter, and then after a few months you could just file for divorce—”

“I know what you’re thinking, and divorce is not an option. This has to look real, or else Pierce will know he was slighted. It has to last, or else I’ll have George Barns coming down on my head. This is the merging of two families, and end to the rivalry. You, my dear, are the lynch-pin.”

You were speechless.

Your father sat back with a sigh. “Let me explain to you the rules. You will marry James Barnes in two weeks, and I will make the shelter’s tax troubles go away. From that date, you have one year to produce a child and seal the marriage.”

You choked on your spit, but he kept talking.

“The wedding will be large, proper, and public. White dress, bridesmaids, the whole nine yards. You will smile, you will appear happy, and you will give James what is owed a husband on his wedding night.”

You felt sick. Your father continued to tick each point off on his fingers.

“You will go on a proper honeymoon. George has suggested the family villa in Romania, and I’ve agreed. It’s well-protected, and you’ll be safe there. From there you will live with James in his penthouse in Brooklyn.”

All while he spoke, Jacob never broke eye contact, even as the color began to drain from his daughter’s face.

“You will be a dutiful wife. You will manage the household and give James everything he wants. You will be permitted to leave the penthouse with a bodyguard, but you will _not_ continue to work at the shelter or see your old friends. It’s not safe, and it’s beneath your status.”

You thought that was it, but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care what type of arrangement you and James have in the bedroom, but you _will_ keep him happy. If he wants women on the side, so be it. You will smile and take every precaution to make this look like a happy marriage. Who knows…you might even learn to love him.”

Your father was whoring his only daughter. Somehow, you forced back the bile and found your voice. “And if I don’t?”

“Then your shelter will be dissolved, and those women and children will be out on the streets.”

You were speechless. Dumbfounded. Once again, your father had perfectly boxed you into a corner, and you had no way out.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Y-Yes sir,” you stammered. “Am I allowed to at least go back to my apartment to get my—”

Your father stood and walked to the door. “You have one week to get your affairs in order. Hand off the running of the shelter to someone else, and move your things into the Tower here with me.”

Numbly, you nodded and stood.

“And Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Everyone will be watching you. This has to look authentic, for everyone’s sake.” He sighed, and you were surprised to see a tiny look of regret on his face. “I know this sounds cruel, Y/N, but I have my reasons. There’s a larger game at stake here. This is not as bad as it seems—do whatever you need to do to get this done. You’re my daughter and you’re strong. I know you can handle this.”

And with that, he ushered you out.

_Thanks…Dad._

***

**Present Day**

The church was beautiful, you had to admit—you could thank dear old Daddy for that. The flowers alone were gorgeous. Tones of white, pink, and blush spilled from the altar and the pews. A small smile, so tiny it almost wasn’t there, flicked across your lips as you noticed the abundance of peonies. They were your mother’s favorite, and yours as well.

_At least he got something right._

Music filled the sanctuary, stodgy and traditional…proper. The wedding party was already beginning to walk down the long aisle, and up by the altar you could see the figures of the groom and best man, already assembled. You couldn’t make out much more than that—there were simply too many people.

When your father said public, he hadn’t been kidding. It seemed like half the population of Brooklyn and Queens had turned out for the wedding, and you felt like you didn’t know a single person.

The music changed and the crowd stood, indicating the arrival of the bride.

Showtime.

You took your father’s arm and ignored the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs. Keeping time with the wedding march you slowly made your way down the aisle, your eyes fixed on the sliver of wood that you could see peeking out from under the altar cloth and nothing else. It made it easier to keep the demure smile on your face.

Finally, you reached the steps leading up to the altar, and you ascended with your father, being careful to lift the hem of your dress.

_Wouldn’t want to trip like the doofus you really are and ruin the whole charade, now would we?_

You bit back a snicker.

Then your father was taking your hand and laying in the palm of another.

And that was your first impression of James Buchanan Barnes.

His hands were callused but warm, and strong. Long fingers closed around yours, and you noticed his nails were short and clean, but not manicured. His hands were utilitarian…strangely comforting. They felt nice.

Slowly your eyes lifted, and you took your first look at your soon-to-be husband.

His face was solemn. Serious. Yet he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen…a _star_ fallen to earth. Soulful eyes of the stormiest blue stared back at you, blinking in surprise as his lips parted. You could see a well of emotion in their depths, and for a moment, you were utterly lost in them.

James sucked in a breath, and his lips twitched in an adorably crooked smile as his hands tightened around yours. You felt the icy wall you’d constructed around your heat begin to melt, but you stopped yourself, sealing back up with an icy blast.

_Remember what he is. Remember who he is. Don’t be taken in by those baby blues, he’s a cold-blooded killer and as ruthless as your father. Worse, even._

Your jaw clenched, and his smile faltered. Suddenly, you remembered the role you were to play, and you plastered a shy smile to your face. James returned it, but his eyes looked sad.

The minister cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God to unite James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N in holy matrimony…”

The rest of the minister’s words were a blur, and you barely heard them. It was only after you heard the words “exchange of vows” that you woke up out of your daze.

James was staring at you with the same yearning that he’d shown before. He was looking at you was as if he were trying to calm you, to reassure you, and you hated him a little because of it.

_Just who the hell does he think he is? Is he delusional, or is he just playing with me?_

When he spoke, it was with such a soft and gentle voice you knew only you and the minister could hear his words. You wondered if that was on purpose.

“Y/N. I know this union isn’t ideal and it’s not what you wanted, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re both standing up here before God and half the population of New York.”

He huffed a laugh and the minister’s lips thinned. You simply blinked at him.

_He wrote his own vows? Is he frickin’ serious?_

James continued, undaunted. “Y/N, from this day forward, I give you my heart, and I promise to love you and protect you. I promise to be faithful to you and to make you happy. I promise to be your equal in all things, during the good times and the bad, for the rest of our lives.”

He turned to the blond man at his shoulder, and he took the proffered ring.

“With this ring I seal these promises to you, my darling wife.”

He slid the ring on your finger, and you stared at it dumbly. James’s lips were parted slightly, and he was looking at you as if you were an angel fallen from heaven. Was he…was he _actually_ taking this seriously?

_What in the actual fuck?_

The minister was talking to you—shit!

Now he was looking at you expectantly.

Numbly, you recited the words after him.

"I, Y/N Y/L/N, take thee, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love, honor and obey, in accordance with God’s holy ordinance, as long as we both shall live."

Shirley…or Karen…handed you the ring, and you slid it on his finger. James tightened his hand around yours, and you felt another surge of electricity. You blinked and re-settled your expression, ensuring you were nothing more than the demure bride when you looked up.

James was staring at you, and you allowed your eyes to slide away. There was no way you could stand to look at him right now. You felt angry…and confused. You stared at the top button of his shirt, and that was enough to hold your focus as the minister continued.

“Eternal God, help James and Y/N to fulfill the promises they have made here today and to reflect your steadfast love in their commitment to each other. Give them kindness and patience, affection and understanding, happiness and contentment. May their family and friends continue to support them in difficult days, so that their love for each other may continue to grow as long as they both shall live.”

The minister released your hands, and took a step back.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

He looked at you both expectantly, and you felt James’s hand tighten once again.

_Oh yeah._

You allowed yourself to be pulled forward into the kiss. James cupped your cheek, his long, beautiful eyelashes fluttering closed as your lips met for the first time.

Your brain stopped.

Warm, soft lips against yours. Not pushing, just accepting and melting into yours. Long fingers caressed your cheek, drawing you close and holding you there without any added pressure. James’s fingers intertwined with yours, and you let yourself be led closer, until you could feel his chest brushing against yours as he breathed.

The congregation was cheering and clapping, but you couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears as James kissed you. It was a sweet, gentle kiss that bordered on being chaste, and not at all what you had been expecting from a man of his reputation.

You felt a little dizzy as he released you. James was looking at you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable, and you blushed self-consciously.

Mustering all the grace and courage available, you took his proffered arm. Then it was down the aisle to the waiting limousine that would take you to the reception. It was over.

You were now Mrs. Y/N Barnes, mob wife.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Language, Discussion of murder, Very brief non/con touching if you squint, a wee bit of fluff
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Two Weeks Ago**

“Hey Pop, you wanted to see me?” Bucky leaned into his father’s office.

George spun around and pointed to one of the chairs. “Yeah. How’d that thing with Murray go?”

Bucky nodded as he sank into the soft leather. “You were right—it _was_ Davis. Murray rolled on him as soon as we put the iron to ‘im. Davis sold us out to Pierce, it was his guys who hit us last Saturday.”

George made a face.

“Squirrely bastard. Well, I guess he’ll be takin’ a dunk in the Hudson soon.”

“Steve and I’ll take care of it.”

George nodded. He didn’t say anything for a minute, he just stared off into space. Bucky scowled—his father usually didn’t brush things like this off. He seemed distracted.

“What’s up? Something wrong?”

George sighed. He pulled a file from his desk and held it in both hands as if weighing it.

“I didn’t call you in here for that…somethings’ come up.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “What?”

Another long pause. When he spoke again, George sounded like he had aged ten years.

“Son, I’m not getting’ any younger.” He held up a hand to stave off Bucky’s protests. “No, listen to me. I’m not sayin’ I’m dying tomorrow, but we still have to be prepared for you to take over. _You_ have to be prepared.”

“Is this about the thing with Pierce?” Bucky frowned. “That was a small hit, Dad. I mean, yeah…it hurt, but we’ll—”

“I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about a wife. _Your_ wife. I’m talking about you settling down, moving up, taking over more of the reigns.”

Bucky laughed. “Dad, none of the girls I run with are exactly ‘wife’ material.”

“I know,” George said sourly.

He was only too familiar with his son’s playboy lifestyle. The smile slowly left Bucky’s face as George stared at him, and he realized his father was actually serious.

“Dad…what do you want me to do?” he sighed. “It’s not like I don’t want to settle down, I _have_ thought about it. It’s just that…the right gal hasn’t come along yet. Our line of work doesn’t really attract the right kind of women. Just look at how you and Ma met.”

George nodded, smiling. Winifred Barnes had been a nurse at Brooklyn Memorial when they’d met, and he’d had to pursue her long and hard to win her. He fingered the folder in his hand and looked at his son.

“What if I told you I found the right kind of woman…and you’d be helping out not only the family, but her as well?”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised skeptically as his father handed him the file. He opened it. Inside were surveillance photos of a young woman. She was beautiful—in a simple, classic sense. Not all painted up and shoved into designer clothes like the woman he usually met.

The photos showed her walking out of the subway…smiling at a woman and her child as she ushered them inside a brick building…laughing with her friends at a bar. She looked so happy and carefree, Bucky couldn’t help but let a tiny smile slide across his lips.

He flipped the page, and his eyes widened. Y/N Y/L/N.

Or course, he knew who her father was. He’d heard Jacob had a daughter somewhere, but they had been estranged for years.

Bucky continued to read. Graduated summa cum laude from NYU, received her Master’s in Human and Social Services. Worked for three years as a social worker in Queens, until she left suddenly, moving to Brooklyn and starting up a shelter for victims of domestic abuse.

His father had been right. Y/N was certainly unlike any woman he knew—she was practically a saint compared to most of them. There was more information about her hobbies, her likes and dislikes, her past relationships. Bucky realized his father had been running surveillance on the girl. His brow furrowed.

“Why? Why her?”

“Jacob is in a bit of trouble, and he needs our help. The girl is a peace offering the end the rivalry against the families, solidify our position against Pierce, and ensure the longevity of both our operations, here in Brooklyn, and now…Queens.”

Bucky sputtered. “A peace offering? This is a _woman_ we’re talking about—his only daughter.” He flipped the file on the desk. “No. I’ve done a lot of ugly things in my day, but I am not doing this.”

George leaned his arms on the desk. “If you don’t, she’s going to Rumlow. You want someone like her to be saddled with that nutcase the rest of her days?”

Bucky blinked. Brock Rumlow was Alexander Pierce’s adopted son from his second wife. His right hand man. Rumlow was cruel and sadistic…borderline abusive and seriously touched in the head.

“I think you have some explaining to do, Dad.”

George nodded. “Pierce has been leaning heavily on Jacob. Wants to take over Queens, and honestly, he could do it any day. If you ask me, the only thing stopping him is that he doesn’t want to shit where he eats. He wants to combine the families, marry of Rumlow to Y/N. Nice and public. It seems that Brock’s taken a liking to the girl...a bit too much of a liking, if you know what I mean.

“Pierce approached Jacob and made him an offer. Or rather, a demand. Jacob panicked, and said the girl was already promised—to you.”

Bucky hesitantly picked the folder back up, worrying the cover between his hands.

“So it’s either freakshow or me? Damn—that’s a hell of a thing to put on your only daughter.”

“Jacob’s afraid if he says no Pierce will take her anyway. You’d be protecting her—there’s no way Pierce would go up against us both. Jacob doesn’t have a choice here.”

“But _she_ does. Why would she go along with this—just to help out dear old Daddy? I thought she hated his guts?”

“She does. Apparently he has some kind of leverage over her. All she was told is that she _will_ marry you in two weeks, and that it has to look authentic.”

Bucky frowned. “So she doesn’t know about the pressure from Pierce? Or about Rumlow?”

“No. Jacob didn’t want to tell her. If you ask me, he just doesn’t want to scare the girl. She’s a strong woman, but she left this life for a reason. You remember what happened to her mother?”

Bucky looked down. “Yeah.”

Who could forget? The murder had been very brutal, and very public.

“Jacob and I used to be friends, you know? Long time ago…” George sat back, staring sadly out the office window at the million-dollar view of the bridge.

“Sophia was a lovely woman, a heart of pure gold. Her daughter is just like her. Too much, if you ask Jake. She blamed him for her death, and hasn’t spoken to him since. Losing Sophie nearly killed him, but losing his daughter too? He wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t desperate.”

He sighed and looked over at his son. “Buck, I know you’ve got a big heart, despite the tough-guy act. You know what Rumlow’s like…what her life would be like with that asshole. This girl’s in trouble here, and you have a chance to help her out. To help _us_ out, too. As Jacob’s son-in-law, Queens will fall to you once he steps down. I know this isn’t ideal, and it certainly won’t be easy for either of you…”

Bucky felt the weight of his father’s eyes on him. George wasn’t asking, but he wasn’t telling, either—he was letting Bucky come to his own conclusion.

Slowly, he opened the file again. Based on what he held in his hands, he was half in love with the girl already. She was in trouble, her father caught between a rock and a hard place. Bucky was silent for a long time, thinking.

Finally, he raised his head. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’ll call Jacob, we’ll get everything ironed out. We can’t waste any time on this, Pierce thinks you two have been engaged for months. The wedding will be two weeks from now.”

Bucky nodded and stood.

“Oh, and Buck?” George looked up at his son seriously. “This has got to look real. Pierce will most likely be there, and if he finds out he’s been tricked…I don’t have to tell you what the consequences will be.”

“I know,” Bucky said. He held up the file. “Can I…can I keep this?”

“Sure, son.”

***

**Six Hours Ago**

Bucky stood up at the altar next to Steve and fidgeted. There were just _so many goddamn people_ —he hadn’t been expecting that. It made him nervous.

He hadn’t even met the girl yet, and now he was supposed to play his part with all these eyes watching him. Bucky Barnes had stared down the barrel of a gun, cold-heartedly ordered the murder of rivals (or done it himself), and made life-altering decisions without a second thought. But this? This scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Bucky wanted to do right by Y/N. He didn’t know her from Eve, but if this was going to work, they had to start out on the right foot. And if he was being honest he really, really wanted it to work.

He’d gone through her file, over and over again during the past two weeks, long after he’d memorized its contents. So many times, all he could see was her pretty face when he closed his eyes. He’d planned everything out, only to let the anxiety get the better of him and change it all again. There was a lot riding on this—not only the future of their families, but the girl’s life as well.

Not to mention that this was supposed to be his wedding. It was supposed to mean something, and it was already pretty messed up that she was being forced to marry him. Neither of them had chosen this.

It was what had to be done, though, so Bucky was going to do it right.

The music changed and the crowd stood, indicating the arrival of the bride. Bucky’s head shot up—he hadn’t even been paying attention.

His heart began to beat a little faster as she proceeded down the aisle, arm in arm with her father. Her dress was beautiful, and she carried herself like a queen, a demure little smile on her lips. Before he knew it, her hands was being placed in his.

Bucky looked down. Her hands were small and delicate, but he could feel the calluses on her fingers that told the story of someone who worked for her living. His fingers closed over them, and he felt her tremble slightly.

His eyes raised to hers, and his heart stopped.

She was stunning. He sucked in a breath. Those eyes—they drew him in, and he felt like he could drown there. Bucky had been with plenty of beautiful women before, but Y/N…she looked like an angel fallen from heaven. A pure and untarnished soul, standing here in front of him.

Bucky smiled at her, and for a second—just a second—her composure slipped. Her lips parted, and her eyes softened. Then just like that, it was over. Coldness crept into her features, a muscle ticking in her jaw as she stared at him with lifeless eyes. She smiled, but it was faked. Forced.

_She hates me. She absolutely hates me._

This was going to be harder than he thought.

_What the hell am I doing? This is so fucked up, even for me._

Then he remembered his father’s words, and what would happen to her if he refused.

_She’s just scared. She doesn’t think she has a choice, and okay, maybe she doesn’t, but I can help make this right. I can help her through this. C’mon Barnes, you’re half in love with her already, you can do this._

Bucky would win her heart. He would make it okay.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the minister spoke to him, and for a second, he blanked.

_Vows…shit, the vows. Well, if I’m going to start, now’s the time._

Bucky took a deep breath and spoke from the heart.

“Y/N. I know this union isn’t ideal and it’s not what you wanted, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re both standing up here before God and half the population of New York.”

He huffed a nervous laugh and the minister’s lips thinned. Y/N simply looked confused. Undaunted, Bucky continued.

“Y/N, from this day forward, I give you my heart, and I promise to love you and protect you. I promise to be faithful to you and to make you happy. I promise to be your equal in all things, during the good times and the bad, for the rest of our lives.”

Steve handed him the ring.

“With this ring I seal these promises to you, my darling wife.”

Y/N stared at the ring as he slid it on her finger, and despite the situation, Bucky felt a surge of pride. His smile slipped a bit, though, when she looked at him like he was nuts. She was still staring at him when the minister spoke to her, and the man had to repeat himself twice before she responded.

"I, Y/N Y/L/N, take thee, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love, honor and obey, in accordance with God’s holy ordinance, as long as we both shall live."

The ring was slipped on his finger, and he tightened his hands around hers. Despite the absurdity of the situation, Bucky felt a bond, an electric current tying them together. He thought maybe she felt it too, but her eyes were dead and the fake smile was back on her face as she looked up again.

_C’mon doll, you’re killin’ me here._

Now she wouldn’t even look at him. She stared at his shirt for the rest of the ceremony, only moving when the minister released their hands.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

_Fuck._

Bucky tried to communicate reassurance to her as he gently drew her forward. He cupped her cheek and leaned in, his eyes drifting closed as he kissed her.

_Oh, god._

The sweetest, softest kiss, instantly transporting him back and making him feel like he was in high school again. Like he’d never been kissed before. She melted into him, not pushing, not demanding like he was used to. Innocent and pure. Bucky drew her closer, and his heart fluttered in his chest when she allowed it. He could feel the heat of her against him, satin and lace and soft skin, and he breathed her in.

_Wow._

Y/N looked dazed as he released her, and Bucky was sure his face held a similar expression. It hadn’t been what either of them were expecting. The congregation cheered and applauded as Bucky Barnes led his new wife down the aisle to the waiting limousine.

***

**Now**

The reception had passed in a blur, and it had been awful. Y/N was definitely playing a part, of that Bucky was now certain. She absolutely loathed him.

Oh, she played it well. He led her gracefully through their first dance, delighting at the way her body felt against his. She kissed him at the appropriate moments and smiled adoringly up at him. She met his friends and his relatives, engaging in small talk with the skill of a seasoned pro.

Bucky was sure he’d been the only one who noticed her little tells, the way she would stiffen ever so slightly whenever he touched her. He was the only one who could see the coldness in her eyes when no one was looking.

The only real moment the entire party was when Y/N met his mother, Winifred. She actually returned a genuine hug, allowing Winnie to hold her long after what was required by etiquette. Bucky’s heart broke, because he knew why—she was remembering her own mother.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. He noticed Y/N barely drank, nursing the same glass of champagne all night. Bucky, on the other hand, had quite a few. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober, either.

None of it was going like he’d planned. He’d hoped to have a couple of minutes to alone with her, a chance for him to actually _talk_ to her, to reassure her of the situation and his intentions.

Nope.

They were paraded around like show ponies, everyone wanting to spend some time with the bride and groom. It was making everything worse, and he watched as Y/N retreated further and further inside herself as the night wore on, that polished exterior never faltering for a minute.

Before he knew it, it was over. The cake had been cut, words had been said honoring the lovely couple—pre-written by the two fathers, of course—and Bucky was headed up to the wedding suite with his bride.

They rode up in utter silence.

It was quite possibly the most awkward moment of his life. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Sorry? Congratulations? Nice to meet you?

_Fuck._

Y/N stood a little ways apart from him, her hands loosely clasped in front of her. She watched the numbers light up with a detached curiosity.

The elevator dinged open, and Bucky stood aside to let her go first. She swept past him without a word, and they walked together to the door, the only one on the entire floor.

The sound of the door closing rang out like the gates of doom, sealing in the two strangers. Husband and wife. Y/N paused a moment, her face impenetrable as her gaze swept the room. Bucky watched her, unsure exactly what he should be doing at this point. Everything he had planned had gone right out of his head.

Y/N’s eyes lit on the full bar. Walking up to it, she tossed a few whiskey rocks in an old fashioned glass, topping it off with some bourbon.

“Want one?”

It was the first thing she’d said to him that hadn’t been rehearsed or forced.

“Fuck it. Yeah.”

Bucky peeled off his suit jacket, throwing it on a chair near the door. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite, the entire city of New York sparkled. It was starting to rain.

Y/N poured a healthy dose of liquid courage into each glass and handed one to him. Bucky held his up, but she knocked hers back without hesitation. He blinked as she poured herself another.

Bucky slowly drained his. He was painfully aware of what was expected of them now, and he knew he probably shouldn’t, but…damn, if he didn’t want it. His eyes slowly traveled down her figure, taking in every curve.

He set his glass down. So did Y/N, and she took a step towards him.

_Maybe she wants it too…_

Tentatively, he reached a hand out, tracing the lace on the bodice of the gown. It was truly beautiful, just like her. Bucky’s hands rested on her hips as he gently pulled her forward. Her eyes slowly closed as his lips found hers, parting immediately and allowing his tongue to explore her mouth.

Bucky moaned. She tasted like bourbon and chocolate, sweet on the tongue with a sultry finish. His fingers tightened on her hips. God, he wanted to see her—all of her. He was intoxicated with her, craving her touch in a way he was totally unused to.

Slowly, he turned his wife around, running his fingers lightly over her shoulders before tugging on the zipper of her dress, down, down her slender back, coming to a stop over her rear. A brush of his fingers, and it fell away.

Bucky stepped back, blinking as he took in the sight of her. A corset, pale pink and straining as her bosom rose and fell, complete with garter belt and silk stockings.

He was undone.

“Y/N.” He murmured her name as he touched here and there, a porcelain doll he was afraid might break.

She avoided his eyes, but her hands reached up, undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. Bucky shivered at her touch, feeling his heartrate pick up as she peeled the shirt from his shoulders. Y/N stared as his form, her eyes coming to rest on the numerous scars his body held. Being an enforcer for the mob didn’t come without its hazards.

Her eyes lingered on the scars. She knew very well where they came from.

Y/N turned back to the bar, pouring herself another bourbon and knocking it back. Bucky saw hesitation in her eyes, and damn, if that didn’t arouse him even further. She was shy. He stepped towards her, gripping her arms possessively. She was his wife, and she was beautiful. She was everything he wanted, all tied up in a neat little bow. She was his.

Bucky drew her backwards into his chest. His kissed down the length of her neck as his fingers traced the lines of her collarbone, down over her breasts. His hand rested there a minute, and he could feel her heart hammering away beneath his palm.

The feel of her was driving him wild, and he gasped as his erection rubbed against her hip. His chest was heaving against her, his body quivering with need. So was hers.

No, wait.

It was more than that. Y/N was trembling. She was shaking, and it wasn’t from lust or booze. Bucky raised his eyes to hers, and what he saw there crushed him. She really did hate him. No, it was much worse than that.

She was _afraid_ of him.

Bucky stepped back as if burned and immediately released her.

_What am I doing? What is wrong with me? Fuck—I shouldn’t have drank so much. I was gonna calm her, reassure her…win her heart, and here I am, forcing myself on her._

Despite the situation they were in and what he’d resolved to do, her reaction to him still stung. Bucky wasn’t used to being turned down by women. He let out a breath, and his mouth thinned.

“Am I really that bad?” he asked quietly.

Y/N looked up at him, and Bucky had the unsettling feeling she could see into his very soul.

“It’s not who you are, it’s _what_ you are.”

That hurt. He straightened and took another step back, as hard as it was.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not going to touch you. Not until you ask me to.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time, then.”

Her voice was like a steel knife, cutting him to the quick. Bucky’s jaw clenched. He walked into the bedroom and grabbed a pillow and a blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep.”

Y/N didn’t say a word as he settled himself on the plush couch, the lights of the city sparkling beyond the window. Bucky wanted to smash each and every one. He was fuming, both in self-loathing and hatred of the position he’d been placed in. Hatred of what was being forced on this girl.

Bucky had never felt so low in his life.

Y/N gathered up her dress with what little dignity remained to her, and closed the door of the bedroom. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for sleep, trying to drown out the sound of his wife’s sobs.

***

Sunlight streaming through the window woke you. Confused, you sat up, taking in your surroundings. The glass was so thick you couldn’t even hear the noise from the street up here.

You blinked in shock. Overnight, your dress had been taken away. A smart traveling outfit hung in its place, complete with shoes and jewelry. It all came tumbling back to you—the wedding, the reception, and the abortive attempt to consummate your marriage.

_Ugh._

Your head felt a little fuzzy, but not too bad despite the bourbon you’d had last night. Liquid courage you ultimately hadn’t needed, as it turned out.

Hesitantly, you crept to the door. Peeking out, your eyes immediately lit on the couch. A long, tanned arm hung off its side, knuckles grazing the floor. You could see James laying there, his eyes closed and face innocent with sleep.

He hadn’t taken advantage of you last night. You’d been so certain of how he would act, you’d downed several shots just to stomach the encounter. Yet, it never came.

“What are you up to, James Barnes?” you whispered.

Honestly, the entire night had thrown you for a loop. First the way he’d looked at you during the ceremony, and those vows—what the hell was that? He hadn’t acted at all like you thought he would. James had been concerned, supportive…sorry. He honestly looked sorry for you.

That’s what it was. You guessed he was just a nicer guy that your usual mob boss—he felt sorry for you, but that was about it. He still was going to take what was his, mold you into his perfect little trophy wife—that much had been obvious last night.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a stir in your core when you remembered his strong hands on your body last night, and the feel of his lips on your skin. The way his beautiful blue eyes sparkled at you during the ceremony, and later, when they’d been blown black with lust…

_Stop. Stop it right now. You know what he is…what he’s capable of._

Furious at yourself, you stomped off to the bathroom to take a shower. A long, cold shower.

James was sitting up when you emerged from the bedroom almost an hour later. His head was in his hands, clothes still rumpled by sleep. He didn’t look up as you entered, but you knew he knew you were right there.

You felt infinitely better. A couple of aspirin and a shower, and you felt as good as new. No one had bothered to tell you what the schedule was, so you went ahead and dressed in your clothes for the day—it wasn’t like you had anything else to wear.

James groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. He looked like he could use an aspirin too, but you’d be damned if you were going to get it for him.

“Morning,” he grated. “How’d you sleep?”

_Is he frickin’ serious?_

You said nothing. Heels tapping on the floor, you walked into the kitchenette and poured yourself a cup of coffee. James sighed, started to turn, and groaned again.

“Look—will you please just come sit down? I feel like shit, I must’ve slept wrong ‘cause it hurts to turn my head, and I…I just wanna talk to you.”

“Poor baby,” you teased.

Yet you carried your coffee mug over to the living room and sat down opposite him. Your father’s words ringing in your head.

James sat hunched over, his hands clasped between his knees. He looked over at you as if you were an intricate puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Y/N…I want to apologize for last night.”

Okay, you were not expecting that. Your eyebrows raised, and James let out a long sigh.

“I didn’t want this either, you know—for you or for me. It’s pretty fucked up, having to marry someone you’ve never met, but…there’s a reason for it.” Your jaw clenched, but he held up a hand. “Look, I know how you feel about…what I do, so I’m not going to talk about that stuff with you, if you’d prefer it that way.”

“I would.”

James nodded, glad you were finally talking with him. “I’m sorry for last night. I mean—I’m sorry for all of it, but I’m sorry for how I acted when we got up here. I had a little too much to drink, and I…well…you’re beautiful, and the way you looked yesterday…I misread the situation and it got out of hand. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak further. An apology was the last thing you’d been expecting this morning.

“I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I don’t want you to be afraid of me—ever. We won’t be intimate until you’re ready, I’m okay with that. I want you to feel safe. _You’re_ in control here.”

You cleared your throat. “Th-thank you…for that.”

Your face was burning, hearing him talk so bluntly about your sex life. And while his words did reassure you, you knew it was no skin off his nose. He could always take a woman—or two—on the side. You would play the dutiful trophy wife, smiling in the public eye. That’s all he needed you for, anyway.

That’s what your life had become.

You took a sip of coffee to hide the tears that were starting to build. You were _not_ going to cry in front of him.

“I had it all figured out, you know? How it was going to go yesterday.” James was looking down and speaking to the floor. “And it all went to shit. I didn’t want it to start out like that.”

He looked up and inched a little closer to you. “I want to start over, Y/N, if you’re okay with that. We don’t know anything else about each other except what was in those files, and…I want us to get to know one another.

“We’re about to leave for Romania in…” he checked his watch, “fuck—like an hour, and that’s a good place to start over. We’ll be at my family’s villa, just the two of us—a chance to feel each other out, get to know each other.”

James reached out to take your hand but pulled back at the last minute, thinking better of it.

“I don’t want us to be miserable. I want to give it an honest chance…whatdya say?”

_And I’m just supposed to forget what you do for a living? Forget how many people you’ve killed and where the money comes from?_

That’s what you wanted to say, but you didn’t…because it honestly didn’t matter. You had to give this a shot, for the sake of the shelter. There was no way out. You were stuck with James, and he was stuck with you.

And to be honest, his words had touched you. James was quite charming, even when he was stumbling all over himself. Of course, it could all be an act, but you didn’t think so. You felt like you maybe had a little peak at the man behind the suit, and you liked what you saw.

That still didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for him, though.

“All right,” you said.

James brightened and stood. He nervously scrubbed his hand through his hair and watched as you walked back into the kitchen to dump your coffee. You’d suddenly lost the stomach for it, and you needed to get out of that room.

Too many emotions were flying around, and you felt very confused indeed.

***

Bucky groaned as the hot water poured down on him, almost hotter than he could stand. Washing away everything.

A new start. Y/N had actually listened to him, they’d had an actual conversation, albeit a little one-sided, but still…

Bucky had felt horrible waking up that morning, and not just because of the hangover. He’d acted like a drunken idiot, thinking with his crotch instead of his brain. Her words still stung him, and Bucky knew he’d deserved every single one of them.

He had a chance to start over though. Y/N was letting him in, and he would show her he was more than just the son of a mob boss. She deserved more than that. Bucky opened the door to the shower and stepped out. He started to towel himself off, but froze.

There, sitting on the counter, was a glass of water and two aspirins. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

Bucky smiled, incredibly touched. It was a start. She was giving him a chance, and he was going to make the most of it. He downed the pills and the entire glass of water, still smiling inwardly. It gave him an odd thrill. He was so used to women throwing themselves at him, it lit a fire in him to do the pursuing for once.

And she was—worth pursuing. He loved her spirit. Y/N didn’t just roll over for him, she held him accountable. She made him want to be a better man, and he’d only known her for twenty-four hours.

Bucky dressed quickly, firm in his resolve. He’d protect her and make her feel safe. He’d make her happy. He’d prove he was good enough to be called her husband.

She was going to make him work for it, but Bucky would win her heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** Language, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of a Past Murder
> 
> Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Barnes Family Villa - Romania**

When James had said “just the two of us,” he clearly hadn’t been counting all the hired help.

The villa was crawling with people. There were chauffeurs, cooks, and a housekeeper. Maids, gardeners, and maintenance workers. Bodyguards and security details. There was even a butler—a goddamn butler.

Your childhood had been extravagant, but it hadn’t been like this. This was…like a scene from Downton Abbey. A Romanian Downton Abbey.

James saw your look.

“Sorry, I told my Dad I just wanted to be left alone this week, but he insisted.”

“You always do what Daddy says?” you shot back.

His face fell, and you immediately regretted saying it. He’d been nothing but nice to you, and you were being bitchy.

“I’m sorry. I just…it seems…”

“A bit much?” James smirked. “Yeah, I know. My Dad’s always been the extravagant type. He does it all for Ma, though—I think he’d give her the moon and the stars if he could.”

You smiled. Your own father had been that way, even with you. But that had been before….

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing up—”

“It’s okay, James. I’m not a delicate flower, you can talk about whatever you like.” You said it kindly, to reassure him.

Every time you thought you had him figured out, James had surprised you. He had made the first move with his apology, and the aspirin you’d left on the counter for him had been your own form of olive branch. Since then, you’d settled into an uneasy truce, cautiously feeling each other out the way only strangers can when they’re forced to live together.

James never pushed. He was courteous and polite, holding doors for you and making sure you were comfortable and had what you needed during the trip. He gave you your space, but when he felt like you were open to it he would shyly start up conversations, asking about your life—carefully staying away from unpleasant memories—and telling you about his.

You watched his face light up as he pointed out different landmarks as the car drove up to the villa. He told you stories, smiling as he relived memories from his childhood, family vacations in Romania. You even found yourself laughing a few of his more mischievous stories, and he smiled back at you.

He had a nice smile.

James was warm. Open. You didn’t volunteer a whole lot about your own life, but he didn’t push. He had a soothing voice, and it surprised you how quickly you were being drawn into friendly conversation with him.

_He’s a charmer all right. He’s a sly, conniving asshole, just like your father. He’d charm his way into any woman’s heart. Don’t trust him._

The voice was back, whispering in your ear. So the smile would remain, but it wouldn’t reach your eyes. You wouldn’t fall for James Barnes.

You couldn’t.

“So, um…here’s your room,” he said, opening the door to a brightly lit room on the east side of the villa. It was richly but modestly decorated, whites and neutrals giving it an old world, farmhouse feel.

Your eyes strayed to the bed. James followed your gaze, and hastily reassured you.

“This just the main bedroom, I’ll be staying in there,” he said, pointing to an adjoining room. It was still within the master suite, but you’d both have your privacy.

“I didn’t think you’d be up for bed sharing yet,” he added sheepishly.

He still seemed really embarrassed about the wedding night. Despite your feelings about his occupation, though, you weren’t above forgiveness. You smiled genuinely.

“Thank you.”

Every morning, you woke up to fresh flowers in your room. At first, you thought it was the maid that was bringing them, but you found out you’d once again underestimated James when you discovered that it was all his doing.

He was an early riser, always up with the dawn for a morning run. Normally, you slept in, but one morning the sunrise was so pretty, you decided to have your morning coffee on the balcony. You had just stepped out, when movement caught your eye.

It was James, walking though the garden. He’d clearly just finished his run, because his shirt was off and draped over one shoulder. You ducked back behind the shadow of the patio door and watched him with curiosity—he didn’t seem like the type to just take a random stroll through the garden.

You tried not to stare at the way the sunrise lit up his skin, making each well-defined muscle stand out. He had a large frame but he was toned, each graceful movement betraying raw power. He looked like he’d been chiseled from marble—he was quite the specimen indeed. You felt your face heat, the same time it pooled somewhere lower, and you bit your lip.

Then you realized what he was doing.

James was picking flowers in the garden.

It had been him, the whole time.

You frowned. James was turning out to be nothing like you expected…not at all. He was sensitive and sweet, thoughtful and genuine. Your guard was still up, and you didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him, but maybe—just maybe—you’d been a bit to quick to judge him.

The door to the bedroom opened, and you jumped in surprise. You had been so completely lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed him come in.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

At least he’d put his shirt on, thank god. You weren’t sure if you were prepared to talk to a shirtless James Barnes this early in the morning.

“Um…it’s okay,” you said, letting out a nervous little laugh. “I just…I woke up early and it was so nice out…”

James blushed, realizing he was still half-in, half-out of your doorway. “Uh, yeah, I, um…these are for you.” He awkwardly handed you the flowers.

“Thank you…they’re really pretty.”

_Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m a knock-kneed teenager standing on the doorstep with my crush after the homecoming dance._

You took them from him, feeling an electric thrill down your spine as his fingers lingered against yours for a moment. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, sorry, you’re usually still asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you…”

“You didn’t. It was really very sweet of you, I didn’t realize you were the one putting them in my room.” You smiled, and it was genuine. “Thank you.”

James was approximately the color of a tomato now. Somehow, you didn’t think he necessarily wanted you to know he was the one doing it, and it made the gesture all the more endearing.

“Well, I should go take a shower…I’ll, uh, see you at breakfast.”

Quietly he slipped out, and you leaned against the door, smiling down at the bouquet. James was certainly not what you expected, and even that little voice inside you couldn’t disagree with that.

***

“Hey Clint? Can I talk to you a sec?”

“What’s up, Boss?” Clint looked up from his tablet and walked over to where Bucky was reclined thoughtfully against the kitchen island.

“What’s the minimum we can do for help around here?”

“The minimum?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. There’s too many goddamn people around here, I’m feeling like I’m living in a fishbowl. This is supposed to be our honeymoon, and I’m always tripping over someone—”

“I get it—say no more.” Clint had a devilish grin on his face. “You want something more private. Intimate.”

“Well—”

“No problem. I can cut it down to one maid and the cook for a couple days—”

“No cook,” Bucky said, cutting him off. “I’ll take care of it.” He rolled his eyes at Clint’s bemused expression. “What? I can cook. Just make sure the pantry and fridge are stocked.”

Clint chuckled. He that was why he liked working for Mr. Barnes. He could be a real hard-ass, and he was as tough as nails, but he was down to earth. More so than anyone else he’d met in this business.

“Alrighty then, no cook. Just a maid, or do you want to scrub the toilets yourself, too?”

“Shut up.”

Clint pulled out his phone texting his partner, Natasha. “The only thing I can’t do is reduce the security, that’s coming from the Old Man.”

“I know, and I appreciate it.” Bucky leaned on his forearms. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, too. I want to take Y/N on a little outing tomorrow. She really likes the outdoorsy stuff, so I thought we could go on a hike on the trail, maybe head down to the village for a bite to eat, do some touristy stuff…”

“Aww, you’re adorable.”

“Watch it, Clint.”

He laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. That won’t be a problem, Nat and I will tag along at a safe distance, you won’t even know we’re there. Just map out the route you want to take so we can walk through a security plan before.”

Bucky thanked him, excitement welling up. He felt like he was really getting somewhere with Y/N, _finally_. She sure hadn’t made it easy on him, but he was starting to notice more smiles instead of frowns on her face, more instances where he felt her defenses start to lower and she would actually talk to him.

He’d been caught, red-handed this morning. He wanted to win her heart, to romance her, but he wanted to do it subtly—he didn’t want to scare her away. When he’d opened the door to her room and found her already awake this morning, he thought all his progress with her was about to be undone.

But it wasn’t. Y/N had smiled at him and thanked him, and she’d seemed genuinely touched by his gesture. Sure, the flowers were pretty, but they were nothing compared to her. Standing there in the soft morning light, her hair still tousled with sleep…she took his breath away.

It was a strange feeling, this giddiness. The thrill of the pursuit. Coming up with little ways to surprise her, finding out the things she liked on the sly, trying to prove to her that he was more than just his occupation.

Trying to show her that he was worthy of her.

Bucky had found out quickly that Y/N was not a material person, not in the slightest. Although she’d been given an entire wardrobe of clothing and accessories, chosen for her by a personal stylist, he noticed that she only wore things from that one, battered suitcase that held her clothes from her previous life. She dressed casually, subtly, and to Bucky it felt like a breath of fresh air. He found himself following her lead, favoring jeans and a henley instead of his usual suits.

Y/N was an active person. She’d already explored the entirety of the grounds several times over, and the help was already complaining that she wouldn’t let them do their jobs, preferring to do everything for herself—much to his amusement. She was feisty and bullheaded, and she seemed to have this incessant need to stay busy. To be of use.

She was utterly unlike any woman he’d ever met before, and he felt himself falling for her harder each day.

The next morning found them high in the hills surrounding the villa. It was the most animated he’d seen her yet, her eyes sparkling as she took in the breathtaking view. She teased him good-naturedly, and even agreed to his challenge when he bet her she couldn’t beat him to the top of the hill.

Bucky won, easily—he wasn’t about to just let her win. She was faster than he thought, though, and they both collapsed at the top, breathlessly giggling.

“I almost had you,” she panted.

“Not a chance, doll.”

She playfully nudged his shoulder, and Bucky’s stomach curled. He smiled back at her, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

“It’s beautiful up here. I can see why you like it here so much.” She was sitting cross-legged next to him, idly tugging at a blade of grass as she looked out over the hills.

“It’s my favorite place,” he said. “It’s quiet here. I feel like I can just get away from everything—we’ve always made good memories here.”

Bucky pointed to an outcropping not too far from where they sat. “My Dad proposed to my Mom right over there.” He laughed. “He told me that Mom said yes, called him an idiot, and then yelled at him for dragging her all the way up here to ask her a dumb question like that.”

Y/N smiled at the story, but she looked sad. He started to apologize, but she stopped him.

“It’s okay, please. I like to hear the stories. Your parents seemed lovely, I’m glad you have such great memories with them.”

The silence that fell between them was just a little uncomfortable, though, so Bucky decided to push a bit.

“Tell me about her. Your mother.”

Y/N was looked down, twirling the grass in her fingers. Bucky thought he’d overstepped, but she finally spoke.

“I had a good childhood, I really did. It was a lot like yours, actually. Dad kept us pretty well sheltered against…what he did…and we were happy.”

She tilted her chin up, her eyes far away. “My mom was the sweetest, kindest woman, but she was strong. She loved helping people. She volunteered all over the city, organizing food drives, working at shelters—it seemed like every time we turned around she was starting up a new charity.”

Y/N frowned. “It’s almost…I used to wonder if the reason she did it was to balance out all the bad. A few good acts to erase the evil ones. Maybe to dilute the taint of the blood that stained us, knowing where the money came from that put the food on our table, the clothes on our back. But mostly though, I think she did it because she liked to do it. It made her happy.”

“She sounded like a wonderful person.”

_Like you._

Y/N smiled at him. It was genuine, and it took everything Bucky had not to put his arm around her. It was good he didn’t though, because the smile slowly fell from her face.

“Being a good person wasn’t enough to save her though. Not from this life.” She shook her head, a muscle working in her jaw. Y/N was no delicate flower, for as much sadness she felt over her mother’s death, there was an equal amount of anger.

“Everything changed after that day. My father, he—he was a different person. He was cold. Distant. I think after Sophia died, he had no reason to shelter me from the harshness of this life anymore. And I certainly didn’t give him any reason to.”

Bucky felt like he was suddenly standing on very thin ice. He knew Y/N hated her father, but he didn’t realize that it ran this deep. She blamed him for her mother’s death as much as if he’d wielded the knife himself.

And he was sure this little marriage stunt hadn’t done Jacob any favors in his daughter’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, straightening and shaking her head as if to clear it. “We were having a nice time, and I had to vomit my problems all over you.”

“Don’t be. I know you hate this…what I do, and I understand why you hate me because of it.”

“I don’t hate you, James.”

Bucky felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Maybe I did before,” she said, “but…although I don’t agree with what you do, and I certainly don’t want to hear about it…I don’t think you’re a monster. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

Bucky swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He looked at her, feeling like he was finally getting a glimpse past all the armor she shielded herself with. Like she was finally letting him in.

Slowly, he shifted his fingers in the dirt until they were touching hers. Nothing more. Just touching. The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips, and she took his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. “For giving me a chance. For giving _us_ a chance.”

***

You hummed to yourself as you perused the books in the library, trying to find one to read before bed. Maybe even while you took a nice long soak in the bath.

It had been one of the best days you’d ever had, and if you were being honest, James was starting to worm his way into your heart. That little condescending voice still spoke up from time to time, but you found it easier and easier to tune out.

After the hike, James had taken you into the village, where he surprised you yet again. After you strolled down along the river he stopped in front of a dingy, unassuming building and asked if you were hungry. It was an honest-to-god pub, and you almost laughed out loud.

Maybe he was finally getting you after all.

You drank the local beer and had some of the best pub food you’d ever eaten, both of you laughing and getting caught up in the excitement as the locals cheered the Steaua Bucharest football team. You were having such a great time, even the appearance of the bodyguards in the corner didn’t dampen your spirits.

Your face had been aching from all the laughter, and James wiped the tears from his eyes as you stepped out onto the side walk. He started to walk down along the rows of shops, and you took his hand, surprising even yourself.

James still didn’t push, he didn’t ask for an inch more than you gave him, but the way he looked at you…

You were falling for him, despite your best efforts not to. That little voice was almost nonexistent now, especially after tonight.

James had cooked you dinner. A few of his mom’s recipes, and you adorably caught him video chatting with her, frantically asking if it was one cup of onions or two in the Dovleici, and for how long should he let the Tochitura stew for. There was a great hollering in the background, and there was a heated exchange of rapid-fire Romanian between Winnie and a voice you suspected belonged to James’ grandmother.

“Da, bunica, este o femeie foarte specială.”

His eyes flicked up to you and he smiled, catching a glimpse of you in the doorway. James’ grandmother cackled.

“Uită-te la el, complet îndrăgostit,” she said. “Nu te descurca, James.”

“Nu o voi face. O iubesc, bunica.”

More laughter and cheers over that last bit, and never before had you wished for a pocket translator. They signed off and you entered the kitchen. James was blushing, but you didn’t think it was from the heat.

“Can I help with something?”

For a second you thought he was going to say no, but instead he slid a cutting board your way.

The food was delicious, and James was a great—although panicked and messy—cook. The kitchen resonated with your laughter long after the meal had ended. After dinner you both went on a walk though the garden, and he attempted to teach you some Romanian, an effort that had you both giggling.

It was late when you both said goodnight and went your separate ways. James didn’t try for a kiss, not even a peck on the cheek. He just gave your hand a light squeeze, and a smile that melted your heart.

Oh, that man. You could feel him there, slipping past your defenses, getting under your skin.

And part of you wanted to let him.

You finally found a book that looked interesting. Turning to leave, you paused in the doorway, hearing music. Piano, to be exact. Your brow furrowed as you followed the sound, down the stairs and out to the parlor.

It was James.

When you’d first seen the piano you’d thought it was purely decorative—something rich people have in their home that they never use. But oh, no. James was seated on the piano bench, playing beautifully, something intricate and classical.

From where you stood, you could only see his side profile. You knew he couldn’t see you—his face was set with concentration, but not over the music. Not the way he was playing. He looked like someone who had a lot on his mind, and he was using the music to work through some intense feelings.

The song ended and he immediately switched to a new song. This one was a little faster, jazzier. It sounded like something you’d hear at a piano bar, and a smile tugged across your lips.

His hands flew over the keys effortlessly. You could tell this was something that brought him true joy, and you almost felt bad for stealing a glimpse into something so private.

Almost.

You watched him until the song ended, and he surprised you by looking up in your direction and smiling.

“How long did you know I was standing there?” you asked.

“About halfway through the song,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t mind, though. C’mere.”

He patted the piano bench next to him, shifting into another song. This one was slow and sultry, and just a bit melancholy. After a couple seconds, you recognized it.

An old Duke Ellington song— _Mood Indigo._

“You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “This is really all I even wanted to do. It’s all that’s ever made me happy. All the rest of that stuff, that’s just…”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “Not a whole lot of choice, the only son and all. Dad never said no, but…”

_He didn’t have to. You felt like it was your duty._

For the first time, you felt like you had a bit more in common with James than you thought. That little voice was silent now, and you weren’t sure if that was because it had been beaten, or if it was just biding its time.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You would’ve been great. You _are_ great.”

He paused a minute, smiling wetly down at the piano. “I’ll play for you whenever you want, Y/N.”

The atmosphere in the room seemed to have increased in density. It weighed down on you, and you felt breathless, sitting so close to him. James must have felt it too, because neither of you noticed when the song ended and his fingers trailed off the keys.

“Y/N…” He took a couple deep breaths, attempting to steady himself. “I-I told myself I was going to wait…to hold myself back, but…you have to know how I feel about you. You _have_ to by now.”

When you didn’t say anything he blushed and looked down. You took his hand in yours, and you realized he was shaking.

“James, you don’t even know me.”

“Yes I do. I know everything about you. Your favorite color, where you went to college, the name of your first dog—"

“Those are statistics, James. That’s not knowing a person, not really.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking at you intently. You shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

“All, right,” he said softly. “I know that you’re a kind person. You like to help others, not because you want their gratitude and appreciation, but because it makes you happy to do it. You don’t like to see others hurt or suffering. You’re independent and strong-willed—a little bull-headed if I may be so bold—but underneath you’re fragile just like everyone else.”

James cocked his head, holding your stare. “You don’t give your heart or your trust easily. It’s been broken too many times, and you’re afraid of getting hurt again. You’re fearless in most things, but what you fear most is your own vulnerability. That’s why you don’t let many people in…certainly not people who are like the ones who’ve hurt you before.”

His analysis was hitting shockingly close to home. James’s eyes dropped down to your lips for a second. His hand twitched in yours like he wanted something more but was holding himself back. He continued.

“You’re beautiful, in a way that not many people are. You’re a stunning woman, enough to stop any man in his tracks, but what makes you different is that you’re truly beautiful on the inside. I’ve been falling in love with you ever since I first held your file in my hands, Y/N, and even though you don’t feel the same way, I want you to know.”

You didn’t say anything. James’ speech had left you incapable of coherent thought.

“What about me?” He asked. “Am I nothing more than a criminal to you?”

He looked so open and vulnerable sitting there, baring his soul to a person he was sure still despised him. The little voice in your head was still silent, but you didn’t care what it had to say.

Because you realized your feelings for James ran a whole lot deeper than you were prepared to admit.

Finally, you found your voice. “You…you’re in love with me?”

Wordlessly, James took your hand, resting it over his heart. It was pounding, so fast and so hard you knew his feelings weren’t being faked.

“What does this tell you?” he said, his voice low. “ _This_ is what you do to me. I-I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I’m just so scared I’m going to ruin it all.”

Your eyes flicked down to his lips—you hadn’t realized he was so close. You leaned in and stopped, your lips barely brushing his as you felt his heartrate increase.

_Am I really doing this? Is this what I want?_

Yes.

Your lips touched his. They were soft against yours, the kiss slow and gentle, building in heat the longer you both held it. James cupped your face with his hands, so lightly they almost weren’t there at all. His breath shuddered as you pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

Lips parted. His tongue slid against yours, and a little whimper escaped your mouth. James drew back, suddenly, breathing hard.

“Is this too much? Am I—”

“No.” You lightly ran your fingers across his sharp jawline, and he stifled a shiver. “I want this. I want you.”

Eyes blew black until there was barely a ring of blue left. Wordlessly he picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom and gently laying you down on the bed. He kicked off his shoes and crawled next to you, but he didn’t do anything more than lay there.

“Are you sure?” He said, brushing his fingers lightly across your shoulder. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m sure.”

James’ breath hitched as you fingered the buttons on his shirt. Slowly, cautiously, you undressed each other, nervous fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, trembling and uncertain. Stripping each other of every last defense.

You lay there next to each other, your hearts and your bodies bared to one another, open and vulnerable. James was a god in human form. Your eyes hungrily trailed down his body, lingering over his sculpted physique.

“Esti frumoasa,” he breathed.

You smiled. “What does that mean?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Goosebumps raised along your flesh as he trailed his hand down your chest between your breasts, stopping just above your navel. His lips flitted into a sweet smile, and whatever armor you had left was stripped away.

The heat was almost unbearable when his body met yours. Soft skin—much softer than you’d imagined—beneath your hands, his body surprisingly yielding against yours. James’s thumb brushed against your hardened nipple as lips trailed down the side of your neck.

He worshiped you with his tongue, licking and kissing every inch of you, soft moans coming from his sweet lips as he tasted you. Your head tilted and your back arched as he found your core, and he groaned as you took him in hand.

Finally, it all became to much for either of you. James pressed you back against the sheets as he slotted himself between your legs. Your hands ran along his shoulders and arms, his muscles straining as he balanced his weight over you.

One last questioning look.

You pushed against him. James filled you, thrusting gently but firmly, letting you adjust to his size. You gasped, and he kissed you hungrily as he began to move.

James moaned your name. His fingers tangled in your hair as he buried his face in your neck, panting as he increased the tempo. You cried out, clenching down as the heat built much quicker than you were prepared for. James gripped you tighter, fucking you through your orgasm as he chased his own, spilling over the edge with a whimper against your throat.

His heart thudded against your chest as you both came down. Now that the initial wall had been breached, neither of you could keep your hands off one another. Lazy kisses. Bodies explored further by curious fingers, and before either of you knew what was happening, the heat was building again.

The moon was high over the hills and all the stars twinkled overhead as you explored each other, the house blessedly empty and silent except for the soft moans and laughter coming from the bedroom. A husband and wife, truly meeting each other for the first time.

***

The light was just turning to grey when Bucky drifted lazily awake. He’d been dreaming, and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. He couldn’t remember much of the dream, but it had been about Y/N. She had been sitting on the hill, just like she had yesterday when they’d taken the hike, flowers in her hair and sunlight warm on her skin. She’d been smiling at him.

James stretched and laid back, completely and utterly relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. It was like all the tension had run out of him, and he almost had to pinch himself to make sure last night had been real. That Y/N was really lying there next to him. He rolled over.

She was.

Her hair was splayed out on the pillow, long eyelashes resting lightly against her cheeks and lips parted in a deep sleep. She looked so utterly beautiful lying there. Bucky smiled softly and caressed her cheek, his touch feather-light so as not to wake her. He snuggled closer to her, and his breath hitched as she curled into his side, instinctively wrapping her arm around him.

He cradled her head against his chest and kissed her hair, smiling at the memory of the night before.

His body still ached deliciously from their exertions last night and he groaned, palming himself in frustration at the thought of continuing their explorations further in the morning light. He wouldn’t wake her though, not when she was sleeping so peacefully. For now, Bucky was more than content to just lay there and watch her sleep.

His grandmother was right. He was smitten with her. Head over heels in love. Bucky was completely soft for her, and if his men could see him now—hell, if his own _father_ could see him now…

He leaned down, gently kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose. Letting his eyes linger over her nude form, barely concealed beneath the light sheet. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, still in disbelief that an angel like that was his.

He softly kissed her lips again. Maybe he could kiss her awake.

His phone rang, and he groaned. It was Steve.

_Perfect timing._

He swiped up and answered, barely concealing his irritation. “Hold on.”

Carefully, he pulled his arm free and rolled out of bed, not wanting to wake her. As soon as the phone call was over, Bucky wanted to come right back to bed and pick up where they left off. He wanted to make love to her again and again, maybe spend all day just holding her and kissing her.

He pulled on his sweatpants and walked down to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water to wash away the fog of sleep.

“Go ahead, Steve.”

“Pierce hit us again.”

Bucky sat down the glass. He was wide awake now. “How bad?”

“Bad. It was the new warehouse over on Sutter—”

“That’s—”

“—Jacob’s territory, I know. We were moving the rest of the goods there until the buyer was ready, but Pierce hit it. We lost it all.”

Bucky swallowed dryly. “How many men?”

“Seven of ours, three of Jacob’s. Jimmy’s dead.”

Bucky’s head was spinning, and he clutched the phone. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The merger with Jacob was supposed to deter Pierce, not fuel him.

“There’s more,” Steve said. “There’s been hits on our guys, their families. Nobody’s been hurt yet, thank god, but they’ve been trying. Pierce is making his move.”

Coldness washed over Bucky. Hits on the families. Pierce making his move. He looked out through the window at the grey dawn, his heart squeezing at the thought of Y/N in danger.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“Coming to get you. I’m already in country, I’ll be there soon. George has called everybody back, we’re going on hard lockdown. I’m bringing some guys, we’ll close down the house and get you and Y/N home safely.”

“I can take care of myself, Steve.”

“I know you can, and so does George. Winnie asked for extra security, just until you get home.”

Bucky nodded, hating the worry he knew his mom must be feeling. “All right, I’ll put Clint and Nat out front, they’ll let you in. I’ve got to go.”

Bucky hung up the phone and walked back to the bedroom on numb legs. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. This kind of thing had happened before, and his body’s usual response was one of cold anger, of excitement and anticipation, steeling itself for the fight and locking down all emotions. The only emotion he felt now, though, was fear, and he knew why.

He had something to lose now.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and watched Y/N as she slept, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. She hadn’t wanted this life. She tried to walk away from it once, and now the noose was tightening around her neck, drawing her back towards the flame.

Bucky loved her. He knew that now. It wasn’t the superficial emotion he’d felt before, this time it burned deep, changing him. He would do anything to protect her, anything to keep her safe.

He wouldn’t tell her. Y/N was the strongest person he’d ever met, but what was happening right now was far too close to what had happened five years ago—circumstances that had resulted in her mother’s brutal murder. Everyone had their breaking point, and he wasn’t going to be the one to break her.

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to her temple, taking one last, longing look at her before he turned and walked into the bathroom. Time to shower and shave, and put on his suit once more.

The honeymoon was over. It was time to go to work.

***

You rolled over, reaching for James, only to have your hand land on empty blankets. His side of the bed was cold. Frowning, you sat up. Rosy pink tendrils of the morning sunrise were just beginning to peek their way over the windowsill—it was still early.

James must have gotten up for his run. You swallowed back a hint of disappointment and crawled out of bed, shrugging on you silk robe and shaking out your hair. You had been hoping for a continuation of last night…tender kisses wrapped in his arms, cuddles under the blankets. Last night had been wonderful, and you smiled at the memory. That little voice that said you should hate him was quiet now, and you realized you were falling for James.

Still smiling, you padded barefoot down to the kitchen. James had been gone a while, and he’d be back any minute. This morning, you’d return the favor. You’d make _him_ breakfast. And then, you could talk about what happened last night, and where things went from there.

You walked through the archway, and stopped suddenly.

Steve was in your kitchen.

Or, to be more precise, Steve and James and several strange men were in your kitchen.

You hugged your robe tighter around your body. James was dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, and his expression was thunderous. He looked up and noticed you, his expression softening for one split second before it iced over completely.

“Pack your things, we’re leaving in an hour,” he said by way of good morning.

“Wh-what?”

Heads swiveled to look at you. A muscle tensed in his jaw, and James gently but firmly took you by the arm, steering you from the room. You wrenched your arm from his grasp.

“What the hell—”

“Pack.” James pulled a suitcase out of the closet and pointed to it. He turned to leave, and you stepped in front of him.

“Wait—what’s going on? Aren’t we even going to talk about what happened last night?”

“There’s no time for that,” he said coldly. “Pack what you need now, the rest will follow later. We’re going home.”

With that he turned and left the room.

_I told you so._

That ugly little voice was back, whispering in your ear. Last night clearly had meant nothing to James. To him, you were nothing more than a good lay—one he’s entitled to as your husband.

You pulled your robe tighter around your body, wiping angrily at the tears that had started to fall.

You felt dirty.

You felt used.

Last night you had opened your heart to James against your better judgement. You thought you had been falling in love with him.

What a fool you’d been.

You stepped in the shower, hoping to wash away every last trace of what had happened last night from your body. Every last trace of _him_. Angry, bitter tears swirled around the drain along with the water from the showerhead.

By the time you stepped out, the tears were gone and your expression was carefully neutral. You pulled on your skirt and blouse, and slid your feet into your designer shoes. Clothes that cost more than the rent on your tiny apartment, clothes that hadn’t chosen for yourself. Each piece was carefully put on, and you wielded them like armor. Hair was tucked into place, lipstick and mascara applied, and you studied the reflection in the mirror.

You were an ice queen. A worthy trophy wife for James Barnes, nothing more than a figure in heels at his arm. A hollow, empty shell whose true emotions were kept safely locked away where no one could see.

 _Good_.

There were, after all, appearances to be maintained.

A knock at the door, and there was the man who would take your luggage to the car. You didn’t even know his name. You nodded your thanks and followed him out to the waiting car.

James barely looked up from his phone as you slid in the back seat alongside him. You folded your hands primly in your lap and stared out the window as the car drove off, silently saying goodbye to the land you’d fallen in love with.

At least that had been real.

You tried to tell yourself you felt nothing but cold indifference to James now, but that was a lie. You hated him.

You both endured the car ride in utter silence. The Romanian countryside flashed past the window, the colors becoming more vivid as the sun climbed higher.

“Hey.”

A finger grazed against your leg, and you stifled the urge to flinch away.

“I’m sorry about the quick exit this morning, that’s not how I wanted things to end. Not after last night—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You held your head high, girding yourself with a false pride despite how broken you felt inside.

“I understand,” you said. “It’s just business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All knowledge of Romania and the Romanian language are from Google. Translations are from Google Translate:  
> “Da, bunica, este o femeie foarte specială.” [Yes, Grandma, she’s a very special woman.]  
> “Uită-te la el, complet îndrăgostit,” [Look at him, completely smitten.]  
> “Nu te descurca, James.” [Don’t screw this up, James.]  
> “Nu o voi face. O iubesc, bunica.” [I won’t. I love her, Grandma.]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Language, Angst
> 
> Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

“I’m sorry about the quick exit this morning, that’s not how I wanted things to end. Not after last night—”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” she said. “It’s just business.”

Bucky’s heart plummeted.

It was currently residing somewhere around his stomach.

The words had been delivered in a carefully neutral tone—warm even. He glanced from her to the driver and back again. He had screwed up. He’d realized it as soon as she got in the car, but the way she said it, and the look on her face…

She was cold and distant, every defense up and her armor cinched tighter than before. The worst part of it was, she didn’t even look that upset. Not to an outsider, at least.

But Bucky knew her now. She was pissed.

He tried to apologize—he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done or why she was so upset with him, but he couldn’t stand to see her looking like that. Like a trapped woman, resigned to her fate.

Once again.

Bucky wanted to scream.

She said she _understood_. That it was _just business_. But the way she said it left an icy pit in his stomach, and then she’d flinched away from him when he tried to touch her. She tried to hide it, but it was there.

Frantically, his mind ran through the events of last night and that morning as they lapsed into silence. Last night had been…beyond words. Bucky could honestly say it had been the best night of his life. He’d told her he loved her, and the way she had looked at him then, he knew she felt the same way. And then, after…

He’d given her all the control. He kept stopping, asking, making sure she was comfortable with what was happening. Bucky had wanted her so badly it hurt, but he forced himself to slow down.

And she’d absolutely blown his mind, blossoming like a flower in his hands. Orgasm after orgasm, riding from one to the next as they explored each other. His body was still sore from the intensity of their lovemaking—and that’s exactly what it was. They’d made love all night, and the dawn had found the woman of his dreams curled safely in his arms.

And then it had all gone so horribly wrong.

There was no way she’d heard the phone call, she had still looked half asleep when she entered the kitchen nearly an hour later. Bucky had been so preoccupied with trying to get them out of there and juggle all the people and phone calls and texts, that his conversation with her was admittedly a bit of a blur. She had to have understood the urgency, though, because there she’d been, fully dressed and packed thirty minutes later.

So what was the problem?

Bucky rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the tension headache that was building behind his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. He knew he’d be bombarded as soon as they reached the jet, and it would be all business from there. He wasn’t sure how bad the situation was yet, but it sounded bad, and he didn’t need to be dealing with all this right now.

He thought that he’d be able to explain a bit in the car. Delicately, sparing her the gory details…but she wasn’t even allowing that. Bucky clenched his jaw in frustration.

_What the hell did I do? I tried…I really tried. I thought last night meant something, but…was she really just playing a part?_

That hurt too much to think about.

“Y/N,” he said softly. She didn’t move, she just kept staring out the window.

“Y/N, please…look at me.” He sighed. “Look, I know that you’re mad at me, and I’m sorry. This is not how I wanted this to end, not after last night—"

“I don’t want to talk about what happened last night.”

“Please, Y/N. I hate this…this space that’s between us. Everything was going so well, what happened?”

“I forgot who you were.”

The words were a bitter whisper, but they were still a knife to his heart. Bucky looked down at his lap, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“So, that’s what this is about—you regret what happened last night. I thought you wanted it, Y/N, I…I thought it meant something.”

_I thought you loved me._

She looked at him sharply. “The only thing that night was, James, was me performing my ‘wifely duties,’ as my father so delicately put it. Nothing more, nothing less. If that’s not enough for you, then I’m sure you can find dozens of other girls who are willing to perform the same service.”

“Your father? What do you mean, _wifely duties_ —what did he tell you? You’re not my slave, Y/N, I—what the hell does he have on you?”

She was breaking his heart. That night really had meant nothing to her—whatever leverage Jacob had on her, it was enough to make her stay. Bucky’s stomach turned at the thought of her being told just what exactly her ‘wifely duties’ entailed. He knew Jacob was in a tough situation, but still…

“It’s none of your business. It’s between me and him.”

“Well you’re my wife, and if he’s threatening you or blackmailing you into something, then _it is_ my business.”

She didn’t say anything else, and Bucky’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Y/N, I meant what I said last night. I’m in love with you, and I’m gonna do everything I can to make you believe that. I will do anything to make you happy, and if that means you want to shut me out and keep your secrets, then fine.”

She was still facing the window, and Bucky leaned forward so he could see her eyes. Her face was flushed with anger.

“No matter what anyone else has told you, you don’t owe me anything. I want you—badly—but I’m not going to touch you again unless you ask me to. I just want you to be happy.”

She brushed her cheek, but not before he saw the tear. Bucky’s heart fell.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, please don’t cry, I—”

“Don’t.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. Bucky was confused. He thought she was just angry at him, but now he wasn’t sure.

“Please talk to me, Y/N. If…if last night didn’t mean anything, then why are you crying right now?”

She turned to face him, and Bucky was not prepared to hear what she had to say.

“Because it did mean something to me, James. Last night—the whole week—it was wonderful, and I thought I was falling in love with you. I gave myself to you because I thought…I thought…”

Her lip quivered, and she hastily wiped another stray tear.

“…and then this morning you were the cold brute you always were. You’d gotten what you wanted, so it was down to business. I ignored my head and listened to my heart for once in my life, and I regret every second of it. I’ve never felt so used in my life.”

The last part was barely whispered. Bucky was stunned.

He’d hurt her deeply. All her anger was just a mask to hide her pain. Honestly, he hadn’t even been thinking about that this morning, he was just trying to handle business and keep her safe. Now, seeing it from her perspective, he could imagine exactly how she felt.

Used. Cheap.

Dirty.

Bucky felt horrible—he had to fix this.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how that came across to you, but it’s not true. Last night was one of the best nights of my life. I love you—”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“What?”

“I can’t do this, James…this little game of cat and mouse. My heart can’t take it.”

“I’m not playing games with you, Y/N. I-I screwed up. There was trouble at home, and I’m—”

“Mob trouble?” She asked flatly.

He sighed. “Yes. I know you don’t want to hear about it, but it’s bad. You’re in danger—we all are right now. I was just trying to keep you safe…to protect you.”

She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t push further. Maybe they both just needed some space and time to process everything. As upset as she was, Bucky wasn’t sure if she was able to hear him right now.

But he’d heard her.

_“…it did mean something to me, James. Last night—the whole week—it was wonderful, and I thought I was falling in love with you….”_

She said she was falling in love in love with him. She _did_ care for him, she was just hurt.

He still had a shot, a chance to make this right. His profession was still a very touchy subject with her, but they’d find a way around it.

Bucky closed his eyes and leaned back against the leather headrest. His headache was shaping up to be a rager, and he might as well get some shuteye while he could—things would be better once they got home, he was sure of it.

They were not.

Eleven hours later, they touched down at a private airstrip near JFK, and although Y/N would be headed home, Bucky would not be accompanying her—his father had sent a car.

He stood there on the tarmac with her, hands lightly cupping her elbows.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I know this is a disappointment. It is for me, too—I wanted to be there when you first walked in to our new home, but…Dad needs me.”

His smirked unhappily. It was a new home for him, too. George had decided his son’s bachelor pad was unsuitable for a young couple, and Bucky hadn’t even seen pictures of the new penthouse yet.

This feeling was entirely new to him. He was used to feeling completely in charge of himself and his life, and lately, he’d felt like a backseat driver. But then, he supposed Y/N felt the same way, too. He tenderly brushed his hand down her arm, trying to ignore the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch.

“Clint and Nat can show you around, and there’ll be tons of people there to help you unpack. I’ll try to be home as soon as I can.”

Her mask was back on. She smiled at him, the radiantly loving wife, but he could see right through it—he’d seen her real smile last night. This one was for the benefit of the people gathered round, but not for him.

“It’s okay, James. I know you’re busy.”

She placed a dutiful peck against his jaw.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said truthfully, but she wouldn’t meet his eye.

“I love you, too.”

More lies. She didn’t love him...not yet, at least, but she would. He won her over once, he’d do it again.

Bucky wanted to stay, to sort this whole mess out, but Steve was there, tapping his watch. Bucky sighed and kissed her cheek. He seriously had to get his head in the game—with Pierce making his move, he couldn’t afford to be caught up in shit like this right now, now matter how much it hurt.

Steve smirked at him as he slid into the town car next to him. “Well, it looks like you two lovebirds had a good honeymoon.”

At least the facade was fooling someone.

“Something like that,” Bucky said tiredly.

***

The penthouse was the nicest you’d ever seen. Large, open, and airy, with a stunning view of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was at the top floor of a converted factory building, and the old clockface had been replaced with a working glass replica that doubled as a window. Fifteen luxurious rooms with its own private terrace and elevator.

You’d been following Nat around for the better part of an hour as she showed you the place. Honestly, you were tired, hungry, and could care less. A cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded and pretty it looks.

Your previous fire was gone. Maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the conversation with James in the car…and maybe it was just being back here, so close to where you lived, yet so far away from your old life and everything you used to know.

“Well, that’s it, Mrs. Barnes. If you like, I can have the cook make you some dinner while you get unpacked.”

“Please, call me Y/N.” You looked at your watch. It was nearly eleven. “Thanks Nat, but I think I’ll just head to bed. I’m pretty tired.”

“All right, I’ll send her home for the night. You have an early morning tomorrow, you’re meeting with the housekeeper to meet the staff and go over the running of the household.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She turned to leave, but stopped suddenly. “Oh, and Mr. Barnes called earlier, he got held up with work, he’s just going to sleep at the office. He requested to have breakfast with you tomorrow morning before your meeting.”

“Okay, um…where?”

She looked at you sympathetically. “Here. The family is on lockdown until—”

“It’s okay, I don’t want to know.”

Glumly, you headed out onto the terrace to catch your breath. A housekeeper? Staff? Lockdown? It was too much— _too much_. You gripped the railing, watching the people walking the Brooklyn streets, far below.

_What am I supposed to do here, Mom? I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, and…I’m lost._

James had been a bitter disappointment. You supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised, you knew who he was from the get-go. But still, it hurt…deeper than you cared to admit.

The conversation in the car surprised and confused you. He was so adamant about how much he loved you and how much last night had meant to him, yet…you still couldn’t help feeling betrayed.

You wanted to love him. You liked the man you’d seen in Romania, and you wanted to believe that’s who he really was. You weren’t shutting him completely out of your heart, but it was going to take a lot for you trust him again.

It was going to take a lot to get past his profession, because at the end of the day, you knew that’s what mattered most to him.

You sighed tiredly. You were stuck, and although your James had broken your heart, you couldn’t let that get in the way of what was important.

The shelter. That was all that mattered to you.

You sighed and walked back into the master bedroom, kicking off your heels and dressing for bed. You were hungry, but you didn’t feel up to foraging for food in a strange kitchen. You missed your tiny, cramped apartment. You missed your friends.

You had over a hundred missed texts and phone calls from them. Before you left, you’d given them the rehearsed story your father had concocted, and they were rightfully concerned. It just wasn’t like you to suddenly up an marry a wealthy stranger and sever all ties.

You’d have to find some way to keep in contact with them. You’d lose your mind if you didn’t.

As you laid your head against the soft sheets and your eyes started to get heavy, your thoughts drifted to James and the bittersweet fantasy that you wished had been real.

But it wasn’t.

***

Two weeks. It had been only two weeks, and you were already plotting your escape.

When Nat said lockdown, she wasn’t kidding. You weren’t allowed to leave the apartment. Everything delivered to the apartment was carefully inspected by the bodyguards before you were even allowed to touch it, and the way they shadowed you made it impossible for you to call your friends.

You felt like you were in prison.

The first week you mostly slept and read. Your meager possessions had been delivered the previous week, and you set them up in the spare bedroom—you didn’t want them in the master suite where James was.

There was only so much reading and sleeping you could do, though. You drifted, feeling like your life was a melancholy grey haze of skyscrapers and expensive furnishings.

You had to do something, or else you’d lose your mind.

So you started taking over the running of the household. You did the ordering and the cooking, and eventually started doing the cleaning as well. The staff would still report to you each morning, but most days you just sent them away. 

You barely saw James. He was always up early, and he never arrived home before ten—if he even came home at all. If you were a jealous woman you might think he had someone on the side, but you knew that wasn’t the case. It was work.

You’d seen his bruised knuckles, and once you’d even found blood on his collar when you were doing the laundry. He tried to hide it from you, but you noticed.

He was still steadfastly trying to woo you. Bringing you home flowers, leaving you little notes, even playing piano for you one night. You knew what his intentions were, but it just made you sad.

You’d heard everything he said in the car…you just didn’t believe him. You’d fallen for those baby blues already and had your heart broken for your troubles.

You wouldn’t let it happen again.

So you shared his bed—to keep up appearances—but that was it. He was barely around anyway, and after you’d dismissed most of the staff, it was just you and the two stoic bodyguards, rattling around in the big, empty apartment.

You started texting your friend Wanda after the first week. She was one of your oldest friends, and she ran the shelter with her brother Pietro. You missed her so much, and you were desperate to hear how they were doing. You had been steadily sinking into a depressive funk, and you started looking for a way to escape, even if only for a couple hours.

Then, today, there it was. Nat was gone, so it was just Clint. You were sure he was very good at protecting people, but he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box.

“Hey, Clint? Can you help me with something?”

“Sure, Mrs. Barnes, what can I do for you?”

“Please, I told you, call me Y/N. I wanted to move the bed and the bureau in the master suite so they caught the morning light better, but they’re too heavy for me.”

“Sure thing!”

He hopped up and dutifully followed you into the bedroom. You waited until he started moving the bureau, and then you faked having to use the bathroom.

“Be right back!” you called.

You heard him grunt a reply as you quietly slipped out the front door. He seemed like a nice guy and you felt a little bit bad at deceiving him, but your excitement over seeing your friend overshadowed that.

Down the hall and into the stairwell, you took the steps two at a time. You ducked out the service entrance at the rear of the building, and you were free.

Grinning excitedly, you pulled out your phone as you blended in with the Brooklyn foot traffic.

“Wanda? Hey—I’m on my way.”

**

Bucky was worried about Y/N.

He had understood when she started doing the cooking and the cleaning, and he honestly wasn’t surprised when he’d heard she dismissed most of the staff. It was just who she was. She had to feel useful, and she didn’t like people doing things for her.

Work had been draining him, and he barely saw her anymore. Pierce was showing off his prowess as a businessman, and he was hitting them on all sides—hurting both their legitimate business and their criminal activities. Barnes Moving and Storage had been around for four generations, and this was the first time they’d operated in the red in over fifty years.

Bucky felt like he hadn’t slept in a month. He was burning the candle at both ends, trying to juggle the threat from Manhattan as well as try to keep his new wife from sliding into depression.

And unfortunately, he was afraid that very thing was happening.

Nat gave him regular reports, and that first week Y/N had really worried him. She was sleeping far too much. The other day he’d found her on the terrace, just sitting there staring out at the city. She hadn’t even heard him walk up behind her.

Then, the next week she launched into a manic frenzy, tackling the household like a one-woman workhorse. She was polite and civil to everyone, but always hiding behind her mask.

Bucky simply just hadn’t had the time to re-address their conversation from the ride to the airport. He hadn’t had the time to pay attention to her or show her affection like he wanted to, and he was afraid that he was only helping to solidify her already negative image of him.

Bucky popped a cough drop in his mouth and tiredly rubbed his temples. His throat was killing him, and he sincerely hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. That was the very last thing he needed right now.

His phone buzzed on the desk, and he sighed as he picked it up.

“What’s up, Clint.”

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

Bucky immediately sat up, on high alert. “Talk.”

“It’s Y/N. She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean, gone, gone. She had me moving some furniture around, and when I went to look for her after, she was gone. The security footage showed her slipping out the front door. She went down the back stairwell and out the service entrance, but we lost her after that.”

Bucky slammed his fist down. “Fuck!”

“W-We’re out looking for her now, Nat and me. Do you want us to call the old man?”

“No. I’ll do it. Just…just let me know what you find.”

Bucky hung up. His face was numb, and his hands were shaking.

_Y/N, what have you done?_

God—she had no idea how much danger she was in. Pierce’s men had been seen sniffing around the Tower, and he wouldn’t put it past that freak Rumlow to be surveilling the place.

_If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself._

He should have been there more. He should have stayed with her, talked to her more. He thought that giving her some space was the answer, and he might have just inadvertently pushed her further into danger.

Bucky gulped a deep breath and tried to calm himself as he dialed Jacobs number.

Ten minutes later, he was getting into Clint’s car with an address hastily scrawled on the piece of paper in his hand.

_Sophie’s Place._

It was a shelter for domestic abuse victims. The significance of the name didn’t escape him, though, and Bucky felt like he’d uncovered a little bit of that secret she was trying to hide from him. Jacob had seemed reluctant to tell him about the shelter, and he thought maybe this might be part of the leverage Jacob held over her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his racing heart as Clint drove across town. He had to keep his head—he couldn’t afford to panic, but it was hard to keep the horrifying crime scene photos from her mother’s case from flitting across his mind, and imagining his sweet Y/N sharing her fate.

“Clint, how long?”

“Just a few blocks more, boss, but this traffic…”

He was right. It was almost a standstill, and Bucky felt like his head was going to explode.

“Let me out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Pull over and let me out.”

Clint balked. “Boss, I can’t just let you—”

“Did I fucking stutter, Barton?”

The town car quickly pulled over to the curb. Bucky instructed Clint to keep driving, and he set off down the sidewalk towards the shelter, and, he hoped, Y/N.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was surprisingly hard to write. It was originally supposed to have a lot more going on, and I split it because it was getting too long already. I’ll probably end up adding a few more chapters, not exactly surprising as my fics always have a way of growing into monsters...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Language, Angst, Graphic Discussion of a Past Murder, Illness (Sickfic), Fluff
> 
> Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.
> 
> A/N: This chapter mentions (briefly) the circumstances of the death of her mother. It’s pretty brutal, and can be triggering to some. Please heed the warnings above.

She wasn’t at the shelter. Bucky wasn’t sure why she would be there of all places, but he’d asked, and they said no. Y/N _used_ to work there, but they hadn’t seen her in weeks—she’d gotten married and moved away. In a fit of panic he even had Clint and Nat search the place as he stood there and glared at the receptionist, daring her to call the cops, but where had that gotten him?

Nowhere.

She wasn’t there.

Bucky stood outside the shelter on the sidewalk, his emotions seesawing between blind rage and bleak panic.

_Y/N, how could you be so stupid? Why did you leave?_

_It’s all my fault. I should have told her._

_If anything’s happened to her…_

Movement caught his eye across the street. A flash of dandelion yellow, the color of one of her favorite sweaters.

Cursing under his breath, he jogged across the street, dodging traffic with Nat and Clint hot on his heels. It was a coffee shop, one of the nameless, faceless little bookish dives that littered Brooklyn. It could have been anywhere, but it was here, and so was she.

It was warm inside, and dark. Cozy. The shop smelled sweetly of roasted coffee, chocolate, and old books, and Bucky couldn’t help but think it was perfect. It was just the kind of place she would pick, warm and inviting and multilayered, impossible to see all the way down to the little cracks on the inside, unless you really, really looked.

She was sitting in the corner, her back to the door.

_Like a baby gazelle at a watering hole, completely unaware she’s surrounded by lions._

Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“You want us to go get her, boss?” Nat asked.

“No. You two just watch outside, I’m just gonna sit a minute…”

_…and catch my breath._

Bucky wasn’t used to this. He was the one who caused the fear and the panic, not the other way round.

He settled at a table in the corner so he could watch her. A tall, willowy barista took his order—a small, black coffee, decaf. He wanted something warm to help soothe his throat, but his nerves were wound so tight he thought he might pass out if he had caffeine right now.

He watched her. She was sitting with a young man and a young woman, twins by the look of them. Y/N looked happy. She was smiling—really smiling—and laughing, and his heart ached as he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d seen in Romania.

Her eyes were bright and she was engaged, talking with them seriously, asking questions and nodding in agreement. Then she’d be telling an animated story, waving her hands around to help her tell the tale as they all laughed. Bucky wished he could hear what she was saying.

It was strange, but he never thought about the fact that she’d left her friends behind along with her life. It was a thought that made him feel low and selfish. What that must have been like for her…and now, living with him…after the misunderstanding that had hurt her so deeply…

It was no wonder she ran.

Bucky felt for her, he really did, but it was a stupid, stupid move on her part. She knew how dangerous this life could be, and even though she was unaware of the details, she should have known better than to run off like that. If she would have just let him in, maybe they could’ve worked something out, arranged a meeting with her friends—

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

“Clint, I’m getting’ real tired of hearin’ you say that.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of saying it, but it doesn’t change the fact that Rumlow’s men are camped out on the corner. And they’ve got eyes on this place.”

Bucky took a measured sip of his coffee, the muscle ticking in his jaw the only outward sign of his distress.

“All right. I’ll go get her. Get the car and keep an eye on ‘em.”

Christ. Rumlow was outside. Was he following her? Did they know that the marriage was a façade? Did they know they’d been duped?

Pierce wasn’t the kind of man to take a slight like that lying down, and Rumlow was like a terrier once he’d sunk his teeth into something. Bucky had several run-ins with him already; the man was unpredictable and unstable on his best days, and if Jacob had been right about the shine he’d taken to Y/N…

Bucky squared his shoulders as he approached her table. He’d handled hit men and low-life killers, criminals and rival mob bosses. He could handle a pissed off wife.

Y/N didn’t see him until he was nearly on top of her. It was actually her friend that saw him first, and the questioning look on her face finally alerted Y/N to his presence.

“J-James.”

It was a double edged utterance, full of surprise and anger and fear.

_Jesus, doll, be aware of your surroundings. I could have killed you four times over before you even noticed I was here._

Bucky put on his winningest smile. “Hey sweetheart, I’m done early and I thought I’d bring the car…give you a ride home so you don’t have to walk.”

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I just got here. I haven’t seen Wanda and Pietro in weeks—”

“You have that appointment with the decorator, remember?” This time, his tone held a warning edge.

Y/N’s smile hardened. “I’m not done yet.”

 _Yes, you are._ “You’ve already rescheduled with her twice, honey.”

Wanda and Pietro looked back and forth between the pair with uncomfortable smiles. Y/N apparently saw that he wasn’t about to be budged, because she jutted out her chin, her smile cooling by several degrees.

“Of course, you’re right, thank you for reminding me, James.”

Bucky didn’t like the way Pietro was looking at him. It made him feel lower than he already did. Thankfully, though, Y/N didn’t waste any time with long, drawn-out goodbyes, instead hugging her friends and rising to her feet with a promise that she’d call them soon.

Sure enough, he saw the car Clint had spotted, idling half a block down the street as he steered Y/N towards the town car with a possessive hand gripping her arm.

Rumlow was sitting in the front seat with a smug grin on his face. Bucky’s blood ran ice cold in his veins as he quickly helped Y/N into the car, shielding her with his body, just in case.

The door had barely shut before she was on him.

“That was incredibly rude. You could have at least waited until—”

“Not another fucking word.”

The car was absolutely silent on the ride home.

Bucky grabbed her by the arm and firmly let her into the elevator, down the hallway and into the penthouse, not stopping until they were in the master bedroom with the door shut behind them.

He couldn’t get the look on Rumlow’s face out of his head.

All his panic and worry had bled over into a boiling anger at the impossible situation she’d placed him in. And she had to know— _she had to know_ —that what she did had been dangerous, yet she did it anyway, without a thought to her own safety or his own feelings.

Y/N was fuming too, and she was the one who boiled over first.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He turned. She was standing there, her hands on her hips and glaring at him as if _he’d_ done something wrong.

“I mean, you all but dragged me out of there by my hair like a goddamn caveman, away from the only friends I have left that I haven’t even been able to talk to in weeks, bring me back to my little gilded cage up here, and you have the nerve to just stand there and glare at me like—”

“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened, Y/N?” He clenched his jaw and looked blackly at her. “Rumlow and his men were camped out on that corner—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re not stupid, Y/N, and I refuse to think that you’re that naive—”

“I told you after that travesty of a wedding that I wanted nothing to do with your mob business. _I don’t care_." She turned to brush past him, but he caught her arm.

“Well, I’m going to make you care,” Bucky growled.

He spun her around sharply. Y/N gasped, and fear flitted across her eyes briefly before she tried to pull her arm from his grasp.

“Get your hands off me!”

“No. Not until you listen. Pierce is attacking us, both our family and yours. People have been killed, thankfully no innocents yet, but he’s not above it. And to make matters worse, his bastard of a son Rumlow’s taken a shine to you, and you don’t even want to know what’ll happen if he gets his hands on you.”

He shook her, trying to get his point across, and she ripped free from her grasp. Bucky was so angry he could barely even see straight, but it wasn’t just that. There was a cold, dark fear that squeezed at his heart, a fear that she wouldn’t take his warning seriously and would try to go off on her own again. Unprotected.

“I will lock you in this apartment with an armed guard if I have to,” he warned through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you’d like that,” she fired back at him. She was in his face now, almost nose to nose. “Your little sex slave of a wife, just here to play house and warm your bed at night—"

Bucky lost it.

“You wanna end up like your mother?” he roared. “Beaten and raped? Throat slashed from ear to ear and covered in blood, tossed in a ditch like a goddamn piece of trash? Picked at by stray dogs until they find _your_ body?”

Bucky was shaking with rage and fear and he was barely aware of what he was saying. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder.

“Is that what you want? Huh? Keep it up sweetheart, and that’s what’ll happen to you—”

Whack!

Bucky raised a stunned hand to his face. It was red and stinging from the slap, the imprint of her hand standing out in stark contrast to the blood that had risen to his cheek.

“Y/N—”

She hauled back to smack him again, but he caught her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with hatred.

“Don’t you talk about her. D-Don’t you say her name.” She wrenched her hand from his grasp.

“Y/N—”

“I hate you.”

The words were delivered so quietly, so coldly and full of utter conviction that they stopped him in his tracks. Her gaze fell from his, her eyes glassy with unshed tears and looking as hollow and empty as he felt.

He knew as soon as he said it that it had been a mistake. To throw the brutal details of her mother’s murder in her face like that—he knew it would hurt her. He knew it would scare her.

But Bucky was scared too. He was scared to lose her, and he needed her to understand the danger—to understand his fear, but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.

Y/N turned and numbly walked past him without another glance.

“Stop, please—just wait a minute.”

The only answer he got was the click of the guest room door as it closed.

Bucky raised his hand to his cheek, feeling the raised imprint of her fingers. It stung, and not just physically. She’d hit him—hard—but he felt like maybe he deserved it just a little bit.

_I keep screwing this up. I love her and I just want to keep her safe—why can’t she just believe me?_

***

You barely closed the door before your legs gave out and you slid to the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest as the dam burst. Silent tears, huge sobs that threatened to tear you apart wracked your body, only they weren’t as silent as you thought they were.

James was on the other side of the door, his back to the frame and his head in his hands as he listened to you cry bitterly but unable to make himself open the door. He sat there for nearly an hour before he slowly got up and went to bed with instructions to Clint and Natasha to post a guard at the door, no one in or out.

He hadn’t been able to get the image of Rumlow’s smug face from his head.

You weren’t aware of any of this. You sat there, crying until you felt dry and desiccated, curled up in a ball on the floor.

You hated him.

You _hated_ him.

If he were any other man, if this were any other situation you would have left long ago, but instead you were forced to stay here with him, day after day, and it was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

You wanted to love him, yet he kept hurting you.

_No I don’t. I don’t! I hate him. I don’t care about him. I can’t._

Why did he have to bring her up? James had been so cruelly vicious, and the image of the way they’d found your mother’s body, how she’d suffered…you couldn’t get it out of your head.

_“You wanna end up like your mother?”_

_“Rumlow’s taken quite a shine to you.”_

_“Keep it up and that’s what’ll happen to you…”_

You weren’t sure who Rumlow was but you were familiar with Pierce. A war between the families, just what your father had hoped to avoid. It was so eerily close to the circumstances that ended in your mother’s murder that you felt a cold thrill of fear run down your spine.

You didn’t know what to do. More so than ever, you wished you could talk to your mother. She’d married into the mob, and she had always been able to delicately bear the quiet domesticity and the brutality of her husband’s job with grace.

You wanted to try, to follow her example, but every time you turned around James was making it harder and harder for you. What was once a rift between you both was now an unnavigable divide.

Your phone pinged. It was Wanda, wanting to know if you were okay.

Your friends had been full of questions, of course, but you’d tactfully steered the subject back to the shelter and what was going on in their lives, giving vague answers asserting to your happiness with James. Sighing, you texted her back that you were great, and that you’d send her some pictures of the redecorated rooms tomorrow.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

Tiredly, you washed your face before dragging yourself into bed, wrapping yourself in ridiculously luxurious sheets, and staring blankly out at a million-dollar view of the city.

What you wouldn’t give for your lumpy old bed in your cramped little apartment, noisy neighbors and the smell of the pizza place down below. It was honest. It was familiar.

It was safe.

***

“Yeah, Ma, I’m just not up for a family dinner tonight…no, I’m fine, but…it’s just a…no…okay…okay, see you at seven.”

Bucky sighed deeply as he hung up the phone, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye as you walked into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

It had been a week since the fight, and neither of you had spoken a word to each other. To be fair, you’d barely seen him, and you suspected he’d been sleeping at the office a lot.

Or, maybe he hadn’t been sleeping at all, because he looked terrible. He was pale, and dark circles stood out under eyes that had lost their luster. The light stubble on his chin had developed into a healthy shadow, and he scrubbed it in irritation.

“Family dinner tonight at their place. My parents and your dad. Dinner’s at seven.”

You paused, the coffee cup halfway to your lips.

“I know, I tried to get us out of it. Trust me, it’s the last thing I want, too.” He crossed his arms defensively. “Look. I know we have our issues, but could we put that on hold for tonight? I really don’t want them pushing their noses in our business, and I’m really not up for a lecture from my Ma if she catches wind that there’s trouble between us.”

He had a point. As much as you hated to agree with him about anything right now, you definitely didn’t want to give your father the satisfaction of seeing how miserable you were.

“Okay.”

James’ eyebrows raised, and you took another measured sip of your coffee.

“We’ll put aside our differences for tonight and put on a show. After all,” you said with a sarcastic smile, “it’s what we do best.”

***

“Jesus, Buck. You look like shit.”

Bucky grunted. He felt like shit. His whole body ached, and his throat had kept him up half the night. That was okay, though, all he had to do was get through this family dinner in one piece, and then he could curl up in bed and not come out for a month…or at least until his phone rang again.

“Gee thanks, Stevie, right back atcha.”

The ‘family’ dinner had turned into a full-blown gathering, everyone chafing under the lockdown. Nearly three dozen people had turned up, all dressed to the nines and eager for a night to let loose after the stress everyone had been under.

A waiter passed with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, but Bucky smiled politely and waved him off—his stomach was churning, and he was just trying to make it through dinner, not that he thought he’d be able to eat a bite of it. Just the smell of food right now made him want to throw up. Uncomfortably, he pulled at the collar of his tux and set down his untouched drink.

“Where’s Y/N?” Steve asked. “Peg had some books she wanted to give her.”

“She’s right over there, looks like Peggy found her.”

Steve observed the two women for a moment, and then said carefully, “Y/N looks good…she looks happy.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, the tightening of his jaw did it for him.

“You okay, Buck?”

“I’m fine—”

“—only ‘cause I’m your best friend, see, ever since the fifth grade. Now, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine on an average day, but lately…”

“Lately, what?”

“I can tell when something’s bothering you, Buck, and I don’t think this has anything to do with Pierce. You seem distracted.”

Steve was giving him an opening without coming right out and saying it. Fellas just didn’t stick their noses in another man’s marriage, and that’s all there was too it. But still, if he was going to talk to anyone, it would be Steve—lord knows he and Peggy had plenty of ups and downs.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Stevie. Everything was going so well in Romania, and now it’s like I can’t do anything right.”

“You try talking to her?”

“Yeah, and it always ends in a fight.”

Steve nodded. “It’s an…interesting situation, what you two were forced into. And Y/N…she’s not like your average dame. Not the ones you’re used to dealing with, anyhow.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “And this is supposed to help me how, punk?”

“What was it that you did in Romania? What won her over the first time? Just do that again. Re-create the moment. Sometimes a gal just needs to be reminded why she fell for you in the first place.”

Bucky frowned and crossed his arms. Y/N saw him staring at her, and cocked an eyebrow as he walked over to her. She really had been the one highlight of his evening. It was the first time he’d seen her in formalwear since the wedding, and she took his breath away.

She was absolutely stunning. Her hair had been styled and she wore a red, floor-length Valentino with a plunging neckline. It hugged her curves in a way that sent a rush of heat through his veins and sinful thoughts to his head.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he lightly kissed her cheek. “I just wanted to tell you.” She smelled amazing. Bucky let his lips linger a moment, smiling softly at the blush that crept into her skin.

His heart ached for her. He wanted to apologize to her, to sit and talk—really _talk_ with her, but now wasn’t the time or place. Y/N must have seen his hesitation, because she pulled back a little, her eyes darting between his.

“Are you all right?” She seemed genuinely concerned.

“Never better, doll.”

He flashed his most disarming grin, and she rolled her eyes. He watched as she weaved through the crowd, greeting and mingling with people like a seasoned pro. Yet he didn’t see that spark he’d seen in the coffee shop, the one he’d seen when she had been with her real friends, and he felt bad for her.

The night wore on and Bucky found himself drifting apart from her, roped into yet another conversation with his father and Jacob about Pierce. They’d been firmly on the defensive for a month now, and tensions were running high.

“It’s only a matter of time before there’s collateral damage,” George said after Bucky told him about Rumlow shadowing Y/N. “We’ve got the numbers now, we need to nip this in the bud before it becomes a bloodbath.”

“And it isn’t already?” Jacob snorted. It hadn’t taken long for the two former rivals to bury the hatchet, and the two men got along like the old friends they were.

“You know what I mean, Jake. Pierce has kept Rumlow in check so far, but if he lets him loose...”

“Let’s put some eyes on _him_ , maybe get a man on the inside. Find out where Rumlow’s weak…me and Stevie can go tune him up a bit,” Bucky said with a snarl. He still hadn’t forgotten the look on that smug bastard’s face.

George laid a hand on his shoulder. “That’ll just escalate things, and you know it. I’ve got a couple other ideas, though—”

“George? That’s enough work talk—James, come and play for us,” his mother called.

Winifred Barnes was a force to be reckoned with, and when she asked something of you, you did it. Bucky dutifully sat at the bench, and his lips tugged into a small smile as he remembered Steve’s advice.

He started to play the song he’d played for Y/N at the villa— _If I Only Had You._ Bucky had played for her a couple of times at the penthouse, but she’d just ignored him. Now, here, in front of all these people, she would have no choice but to listen.

Bucky looked right at her—only her—and played on, pouring himself into each note.

***

You were a butterfly, and James’ eyes were the pin that had run you through, pinning you to the board and leaving you utterly exposed and naked under his gaze.

You knew what he was doing. He was apologizing, in his own way, picking at the edges of your armor and worming his way into your heart yet again. You stared right back at him, unflinching under the intensity of his stare as the grip on your wine glass threatened to break the stem in two.

The song ended, and he shifted into _Mood Indigo_ as if on a whim.

You nearly laughed out loud.

You would have, if you didn’t feel like your heart was breaking all over again.

_Why’d he have to go and play that song?_

How could one man be so duplicitous? Warm and loving one minute, and then turn right around and be cold and heartless the next. He was giving you whiplash.

Is this how your mother felt with your father? You wondered, because you never saw them fight. Your childhood had been full of warmth and love from both of them, and if your father had been anything other than the kind and gentle man he appeared to be, he’d kept it well hidden.

Until Sophie’s death. Then the mask had come off—you supposed he had no reason to hide his true self from you anymore. You wondered how much of it your mother had seen, or rather, how much she had _chosen_ to see.

It was different with James. He was very good at donning his different masks, and he’d all but fooled you in the beginning. You wished he could be the man you’d known in Romania all the time, but now that you’d gotten that glimpse, you didn’t think you could forget it.

James’ gaze was unwavering, and in the depths of his impossibly blue eyes you could see everything he was trying to say.

_“I’ve been falling in love with you ever since I first held your file in my hands, Y/N, and even though you don’t feel the same way, I want you to know.”_

_“This is what you do to me. I-I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I’m just so scared I’m going to ruin it all.”_

_“Esti frumoasa.”_

_“I meant what I said last night. I’m in love with you, and I’m gonna do everything I can to make you believe that. I will do anything to make you happy…”_

“Y/N, have I shown you the designs for the new summer home?”

“Um…I’m sorry?” You turned, and saw James’ mother standing right next to you.

Winifred had been watching the silent battle of hearts taking place between you and her son as he played. She was no fool. Something was wrong.

“Here—I’ll show them to you, you’ll just love them.”

She gently took your arm and steered you from the room. James’ eyes widened for a brief second, and he went back to playing.

Winifred led you into a small salon off of the dining room. There were no designs. You knew that—you weren’t a fool either. She poured you both a drink—bourbon, neat—and she handed you the glass before she went to close the door.

Offering you a seat on the couch opposite her, she took a dainty sip of her drink, leveling a gaze at you over the edge of the glass as if she were dissecting you piece by piece. Then she sighed and smiled at you wistfully.

“You look so much like Sophie,” she said, “but I’m sure you’ve been told that before.”

You looked down at your glass. You had been told that before, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I miss her,” you said softly.

“I know you do. It’s hard, not having a mother when you’re in the early stages of a marriage, trying to navigate the ups and downs.”

Winifred knew the circumstances of your union with James, and there was no need to mince words around her. You scoffed. “A marriage? Is that what we have?”

“Yes,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve know the person for two years or two days, the first year of marriage is always rough. Trying to feel each other out, getting to know each other as husband and wife, seeing the same person day after day—nothing is hidden. Yours might be an unconventional marriage, but that’s exactly what it is.”

You took a healthy swig from your glass, and Winnie eyed you thoughtfully.

“What’s going on between you and James? I mean, I can guess, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

You told her.

Everything. It felt so good to be able to confide in someone, to lay it all out on the table. All those messy, confusing emotions, the petty arguments and the heartbreak of the past month.

Through it all Winnie listened intently, snorting a laugh at some parts and rolling her eyes at others. Finally, she looked at you and sighed deeply.

“James is an idiot.”

“Mrs. Barnes—”

“Call me Winnie, dear, and no, I mean that with all possible love, but he’s an idiot.” She took a measured sip of her drink. “That boy has got the biggest heart, but he wears it on his sleeve. Oh, he can shutter himself up tight and be cold and calculating when it’s business, but when it comes to love? No.”

“He certainly seems cold when it comes to that, too.”

Winnie pursed her lips. “He was with you because he thought he had to be. He was trying to protect you, to shield you from the dangers of the life he knows you hate, but it blew up in his face—royally. And when James’ feelings get hurt he tends to air them, loudly and crudely, without thinking of the consequences.”

You looked down at your lap. You felt bad—what she was saying made sense. It certainly explained the mood swings and why he’d seemed so surprised that you had been upset with him. You thought he was playing games with you, but it looked like you might have been wrong about that, too.

“I haven’t exactly given him much of a chance.”

“Then do so. I know I’m biased here, but I can see how much he cares about you. I’ve never seen him so head over heels in love before, and I can tell you that this thing between you two is tearing him apart. And, if I may be so bold, I’m guessing that you might feel the same way.”

Your lips twitched, and you reluctantly nodded.

“Then give him another chance, Y/N. Tell him the things you’ve told me. Confide in him. Lean on him. I think that the two of you could be good together. Open yourself up to him and he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. James will do anything for the people he loves, but he needs guidance. He needs a strong woman to stand up beside him, and in you he’s met his match. I just don’t think he’s realized it yet.”

“And the crime? How do you reconcile yourself with that at the end of the day?”

It was a loaded question. You knew it, and so did she.

“You know I can’t answer that for you, because it’s different for each of us. You think about what exactly it is that you hate so much about this life, you separate that from the rest of it, and you talk about it with James. Because it’s between the two of you—how deep you’re in it, and where you draw the line.”

Long after the party had ended, when you and James were back home and you were laying in the guest bed, wide awake, Winnie’s words echoed in your head.

You were so confused. To be honest, you’d felt off-kilter since the day you laid eyes on James.

He made you feel things. Things you’d never felt about a man, certainly deeper things than just a silly superficial crush. You’d been in love before, but this…

This was ugly. It was messy.

And it hurt.

It would be easier if you didn’t care about him at all, but you did. You could admit that now. It stung, but—

_I’m in love with him. I don’t want to be, I shouldn’t, but I am._

But why? Why shouldn’t you? Because of what he did?

James might be a criminal, but he’d been nothing but kind and protective of you. You were tarring him with the same brush as your father, and that wasn’t fair to him. If you were going to survive in this life, if you were going to try to wrap your head around your complex feelings for him, then you had to set that part of him aside.

Yes, he’d made some mistakes, said some harsh words, been cold at times—but you understood why now. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t made mistakes, too. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thrown it right back at him.

The fault lay equally on both sides.

You bit your lip and stared into the darkness. You had to go talk to him.

Pulling on some leggings and an old tee shirt, you padded across the hall to the master bedroom. James had gone to bed immediately after coming home, but you didn’t want to wait until morning to talk things out.

As it turned out, you were very glad you didn’t wait.

James wasn’t in the bedroom. The covers of the bed were rumpled like he’d been sleeping, but the light was on in the bathroom and the door was closed. You were just about to leave, when you heard the sound of retching coming from the other side.

You knocked on the door. “James? Are you okay?”

More retching, and he coughed. “I-I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Biting your lip, you leaned back against the doorframe, wanting to give him some privacy. It was painful to listen to, but now that you thought about it, he had seemed off the whole night. He hadn’t touched his drink, and he barely ate anything during dinner.

Finally, the faucet turned on, and you heard him coughing. He sounded really sick. You were just about to ask if he needed anything when you heard a loud crash, followed by a groan.

Cursing, you burst into the bathroom. James was sprawled on the floor in front of the vanity, feebly trying to get up.

“James!”

You knelt next to him, gently pulling his head into your lap as you felt his forehead.

“Fuck—you’re burning up.”

Blue eyes, bright with fever, found yours.

“…’m sorry…must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Did you hit your head when you fell?”

He shook his head. “I just got really dizzy, and next thing I knew I was on the floor. I’m okay.”

Worriedly, you looked him over. Underneath the fever flush, his skin was pale and clammy. “No, you’re not. How many times have you thrown up?”

“Dunno, three or four—"

He gagged, and by some miracle you managed to get the trash can under his head in time. You could feel every muscle in his body spasming as you supported him, one hand rubbing soothingly down his back as he heaved.

_Oh, James…Thank god I’m not a sympathetic puker._

Finally the wave passed, and you helped him into a sitting position, resting him back against the vanity. 

“Just try to take some deep breaths until the nausea passes. In through the nose, out through the mouth…nice and slow.”

He nodded, leaning forward until his head rested on his forearms. Once you were sure he wasn’t going to puke or pass out again you got up, rummaging through the vanity for a thermometer and a washcloth.

“We’ve got to get some water in you, you’re dehydrated,” you said as you handed him a glass of water. “Little sips. How’s your stomach?”

“Nothing left to bring up…that doesn’t mean it’s not tryin—” James clutched his stomach, doubling over. He slumped against you, shivering.

You were in full mama bear mode. It was the way you operated when you had been a social worker, and it was how you operated at the shelter, taking care of others when they were hurt and scared, helping to build them back up. Despite how sick James was, it was a comfort to you to be able to fall back into such a familiar role.

You slipped a thermometer in his mouth, dotting at his flushed face with a damp cloth.

“102.7,” you said with a grimace. “You’re really sick, James, why didn’t you say anything?”

“…k-kinda hoping it would just pass.”

“You’re an idiot.”

James laughed faintly. “Helluva way…to talk to a guy…on his death bed.”

“Shut up, you big baby, you’re not dying. Just sit here for a minute, I’ve got to grab a couple things.”

“…don’t think I could stand if I tried.”

In a few minutes, you were back with a couple bottles of Gatorade and a box of saltines. You handed him a couple.

“Here—eat them slowly, they’ll help cushion your stomach against the ibuprofen. We need to get your fever down.”

You smiled sympathetically as he made a face. “I don’t think anyone actually eats saltines except when they’re sick. I know they taste like cardboard.”

“It’s okay, bland is good right now,” he said weakly.

Luckily, he was able to keep it all down. He leaned limply against the wall and shivered as you wiped his face and neck with the damp washcloth.

“…feels good…” James blearily opened his eyes and frowned. “Why’re you being so nice to me?”

You paused, the washcloth hovering over the sink. “I don’t like to see others in pain,” you said in a small voice.

James didn’t say anything else, he just continued to watch you through half-lidded eyes.

“C’mon, lets get you back in bed. You think you can stand?”

“Yeah.” He protested when you slipped his arm over your shoulders, though. “Y/N, you don’t have to. I can—”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t right now. And it’s okay—I want to.”

That surprised you both, and you fell silent. You’d completely forgotten the rift between you that had seemed so impassable only a few hours ago—all you saw was someone you cared about who needed your help.

James leaned heavily on you as you made your way over to the bed and helped him get under the covers. He was shaking, and looked so utterly miserable that you melted, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed.

He groaned as you wiped his brow again with the damp cloth. “You shouldn’t be here, Y/N…I’m gonna get you sick, too.”

“I’ve been around you all night, I’ve already been exposed. Besides, I’m not the one who’s been working myself to death, all those late nights and early mornings.”

It was the first time you’d voluntarily mentioned his work, and as far gone as he was, it didn’t escape his notice. His eyes blinked open, and he caught your hand.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I never should have said those things to you, gotten in your face like that…it was cruel.”

He looked genuinely sorry and the last bit of your armor fell away. As awful as he felt, as embarrassing as the situation must have been to him, he was apologizing, and it was time you listened to what he had to say.

You laid a cool cloth across his forehead and looked down at him sadly, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“It was,” you admitted, “but I know why you said it. You were scared, and you were just trying to protect me. And I’m not exactly without fault here, either.”

His eyebrows raised at your sudden change of heart, and then he laughed softly.

“Ma got to you, didn’t she?” James groaned. “I told you she could sniff out marital trouble like a bloodhound.”

Your lips curled slightly. “She did, but she helped me realize some things about myself…and you.”

“Like…”

“…like we need to talk. But later,” you said, sticking the thermometer back in his mouth. “I’m not having an important discussion when you’re half delirious. It can wait until tomorrow—right now, you need to rest.”

The thermometer beeped—102.1. Headed in the right direction, at least.

James’ head rolled on the pillows. He was still sweating heavily and flushed with fever, but at least his stomach seemed to have settled for the time being. Still, you grabbed the trash can and set it next to the bed—just to be on the safe side.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” he answered. “Everything hurts and I’m cold.”

_Men are the biggest babies when they’re sick._

You smiled gently as you got him to drink some more of the Gatorade. “Just try to rest, give the medicine time to work. I’ll be in to check on you and give you some more in a few hours.”

“Y/N?” he called as you turned to leave. His voice was hoarse and shaky. “Can you, um…could you stay? I-I’m not tryin’ to…I just…”

You swallowed thickly. He was embarrassed to ask.

This man who made brutal life and death decisions, who could get other men to do whatever he wanted with a single glare, who you’d always assumed was a cold, heartless bastard just like everyone else in his profession…he was embarrassed to ask you to stay and comfort him.

“Okay.”

You said it softly, as if it surprised you, too. His eyes widened slightly, and he watched you cross over to the other side of the bed and crawl under the sheets. He was still looking at you uncertainly, and you rolled your eyes.

“Come here.”

James curled into your arms and you winced, feeling the heat radiating from his feverish skin. He was really sick, and you hated the thought that he was stubborn enough to suffer in silence just because of your differences.

You weren’t sure exactly when it had happened, but your opinion of James Barnes had done a complete one-eighty in the past twenty-four hours.

He laid his head against your shoulder as you soothed him, running your hands down his back as he shivered against you. His vulnerability surprised you. The way he sought your touch, this hard man that wasn’t used to asking for anything he hadn’t earned…it melted your heart.

“Y/N?” He paused, and his finger lightly brushed your jaw. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me, and…thank you for staying.”

You huffed. Less than twenty-four hours ago you hated this man, and right now your emotions were a fragmented wreck, your head spinning over the turn the evening had taken.

“Just try to get some sleep James, I’ll be right here.”

“Bucky,” he whispered. “Please…call me Bucky.”

You smiled faintly and lightly kissed his sweaty forehead.

“Okay. Bucky it is, then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Alexander Pierce was a patient man. After all, he didn’t get to where he was by not being so. He was a man who would neither forget nor forgive the smallest slight, but if necessary, he was more than willing to wait for retribution.

He stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back and regarded the stunning view of Manhattan laid at his feet, and beyond that, the Brooklyn Bridge. To a casual observer he would seem merely pensive, but inside he was seething.

George Barnes was proving to be a much tougher adversary than he initially gave him credit for.

Jacob was a pushover. Once, he’d been a great man, but the death of his wife had broken him, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before his empire would fall. Pierce had sought to capitalize on that, but he’d severely underestimated the man’s desperation and resourcefulness.

Selling his only daughter off to his rival. _That_ was something he hadn’t expected. 

The girl was proving to be the lynch pin of this entire coup, and it made Pierce uncomfortable. Too much was riding on one person.

A merger between Queens and Manhattan, sealed with a marriage between families, would have been ideal. Minimal bloodshed, the men of both families falling right into line. And with that much pull, Brooklyn would have toppled quickly.

Except Jacob had outsmarted him.

_“I’m sorry Alexander, but Y/N is already engaged.”_

_“Really? To whom?”_

_“James Barnes. The two of them have been seeing each other in secret for the better part of a year.”_

_Pierce’s smile hardened. “That’s surprising, Jacob. I was under the impression your daughter wanted nothing to do with you or your business.”_

_Jacob spread his hands. “What can I say, James is quite the ladies man, and he’s wooed her. The kids are crazy about each other.”_

And then that farce of a wedding. Pierce had to be honest—by all accounts it had seemed real, but Brock’s reports told a different story.

Brock had placed a mole in George’s operation. Someone close enough to the family where they might be privy to their inner-most secrets. Not only had the mole aided Pierce in targeting his assault on the two men’s empires, but they’d supplied a tidbit of information that had absolutely made his blood boil—the wedding was nothing more than a pact to put an end to the rivalry between Queens and Brooklyn, and a way to keep Pierce out of the game.

At the end of the day, though, it didn’t really matter whether the marriage was forced or not. It didn’t matter where the girl ended up. The girl was nothing more than a pawn to Pierce, and now she’d been moved off the board.

Rendered useless.

Still, Jacob’s slight would not go unpunished. Pierce would bide his time, carefully orchestrating the players until he had them both where he wanted them.

He just had to wait for his opening.

As it turned out, it came sooner than he expected.

Brock flopped down in the chair opposite Pierce’s desk, his arms crossed sullenly. He’d been in a foul mood ever since the wedding.

Pierce was more than aware of his adopted son’s less than desirable sexual proclivities. What he did with the woman he was with was his business, although he couldn’t begin to guess what Brock saw in Y/N.

Yet, he was a solid—if a bit explosive—lieutenant, and as both his right-hand-man and his son, he wanted him happy.

“What is it, Brock?”

He was staring at the floor, his arms still crossed and his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. Then, he brightened.

“I think I found a solution to our problems across the bridge.”

Pierce cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ve been tailing Barnes for weeks, and he hasn’t let that haughty bitch out of that Tower once. Keeps her locked up there like some kinda fairytale princess.”

“We already know they hate each other.”

Brock chuckled darkly. “Yeah, that’s the thing, though. _She_ hates _him_ , but he’s actually in love with her.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms.

“She escaped today. Went down to a coffee shop in Brooklyn to meet some friends.” Brock waved his hand. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the look on Barnes’ face when he came lookin’ for her.”

He laughed, suddenly and harshly. “He was terrified. I’ve never seen a look like that on his face in all my life—not him. Thought Barnes had ice in his veins, but it turns out he’s got weaknesses just like everyone else.

“He just sat there watching her for a bit, and I could see the poor sap’s heart eyes all the way from the car. Then, when he spotted me watchin’ the place, he scooped her up and outta there so quick you’d have thought the place was on fire.”

“He really cares for her?”

“I know a protective stance when I see it. He shielded her with his body, and when we locked eyes I swear I could watch the color drain right from his face. He was afraid for her.”

“James Barnes—afraid.”

“Yep.”

Pierce turned back to the view from the window, chewing his lip thoughtfully. The girl was always leverage against Jacob, but if what Brock said was true, then she could be leverage against George as well.

Pierce smiled.

It looked like the pawn had been moved back on the board, after all.

***

Bucky slept for most of the day, drifting in and out through a feverish haze. He’d never been so sick in his life.

Of course, he was an idiot. Travel, long hours, and an impossible amount of stress, coupled with blatant disregard for his own health—he had no one but himself to blame.

Thank god for Y/N.

She was an angel, sent from heaven. He hated being this weak in front of her, but he wasn’t going to lie, the way she took care of him brought more than just comfort from his illness.

It gave him hope that maybe he was getting through to her. That maybe—just maybe—he was beginning to undo the damage he’d done.

Bucky groaned, rolling onto his side and trying to find a cool spot on the pillow as another coughing spell racked his body. His tee shirt was drenched in sweat yet he was still cold, shivering miserably under a thick layer of blankets. Thankfully, he hadn’t thrown up again. Puking his guts out while the girl of his dreams held him—not his finest moment.

He wondered what had caused Y/N’s sudden change of heart. Had it really all been from that talk with his mother? Whatever it was, Bucky was done trying to shelter her by hiding the truth.

He understood that about her now. Trust was everything with her, and he’d betrayed that in Romania. She was stronger than he—or her own father—gave her credit for, and she deserved to know the truth.

Another thing he understood about her now was her need to be of use. To care for someone, to feel needed.

Cool hands against his forehead, a soft voice in his ear, waking him to take more medicine. Her beautiful eyes, full of concern for _him_ as she monitored his temperature, laying cool cloths against his brow and helping him drink when his hands shook too badly.

He lay weak and vulnerable in her arms, trembling in the fever’s grip like a babe. Bucky was a hard man, but Y/N had pierced him to his very core. She’d done that since the first day he saw her, stripping him of his armor until his true self was revealed.

But instead of feeling unmanned, Bucky just felt a sense of relief. He didn’t have to pretend with her—he really didn’t. It felt like laying down a burden, one he’d grown weary of carrying without even noticing.

For the first time in his life, he wanted something more than just the path that had been chosen for him.

_“My mom was the sweetest, kindest woman, but she was strong. She loved helping people. She volunteered all over the city, organizing food drives, working at shelters—it seemed like every time we turned around she was starting up a new charity._

_“It’s almost…I used to wonder if the reason she did it was to balance out all the bad. A few good acts to erase the evil ones. Maybe to dilute the taint of the blood that stained us, knowing where the money came from that put the food on our table, the clothes on our back. But mostly though, I think she did it because she liked to do it. It made her happy.”_

Y/N had been talking about her mother that day on the hill in Romania, but she could have been describing herself.

He saw that now.

Bucky suspected that while she probably always had a propensity towards helping others, it was the trauma of her mother’s death that had finally pushed her over the edge, embittering her to her father and his lifestyle. The name of the shelter that Jacob had reluctantly supplied—Sophie’s Place—did not go unnoticed by Bucky, and he felt like it was something incredibly important to her.

Something important enough to make her agree to go along with her father’s scheme.

As soon as he was able, he was going to have a long talk with her and just lay it all out on the line. Bucky had always been single-minded when it came to the dubious nature of his work, but she was causing him to reconsider his entire outlook on life.

Bucky wanted more.

He must have finally dozed off, because the next time he opened his eyes the sun was setting. The blinds were open, but Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

Bucky sat up. His chest still felt tight and his throat ached, but his fever seemed to have finally broken. He actually felt a little hungry.

He swung his legs out of bed, testing his weight before slowly standing. He was still weak, but it was miles better than the way he felt the night before. With a look of disgust he peeled off his sweaty shirt, pulling a soft henley from the drawer and putting it on.

There was singing coming from the kitchen.

Bucky made his way slowly there on unsteady legs, and when he saw what was happening he paused in the doorway, smiling faintly.

Y/N was there, cooking and singing quietly to herself. She was a terrible singer, but somehow that made it all the more adorable. For a moment, he had a glimpse of what life could be like, cooking together while their children played, safe and secure from the hazards this life brought.

Turning to grab something off the counter behind her, she saw him and yelped.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughed nervously, stifling the urge to cough. “I’m sure that looked really creepy.”

Bucky walked the last few steps to the island and sat in a somewhat controlled collapse.

“Ja— _Bucky_ , you shouldn’t be out of bed right now. How’re you feeling?”

Bucky heard the slip and he heard her catch herself, and he blushed a little, touched that she’d remembered. She came around the side of the island, checking his forehead for fever.

“I feel a lot better, thanks to you. Besides, I’ve been in that bed far too long—you’re gonna think I’m milkin’ it.”

“Shall I go get you a mirror? You look like shit.”

“I’m gettin’ awfully tired of people telling me that.”

“Well, maybe if you took better care of yourself, they wouldn’t have to.”

Bucky opened his mouth for another witty reply, but he stopped short, catching a glimpse of what was on the stove.

“Is…is that _Ciorba de Perioare_?”

Y/N almost looked embarrassed, and Bucky thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“I um, Face Timed your mom. She said it was your favorite when you weren’t feeling well, and she gave me the recipe.”

Bucky was at a loss for words.

“Do you think you could eat something? It’s ready.”

“Y-Yeah…I’m actually kind of hungry.”

He thanked her as she set two bowls on the counter, one for him and one for her. Bucky dipped a spoon into his bowl, praying his stomach would oblige him.

It was wonderful. Memories of his childhood, his mother at the stove cooking the very same dish while he was home sick from school. Y/N had toned down the spices to accommodate his sensitive stomach, but it was there. The creamy tomato base with the slightly sour finish, the hearty meatballs he was both surprised and pleased to see were homemade.

“This is…this is perfect. I hate to say it because it’s so fucking cliché, but it’s just like my mother used to make.”

Y/N laughed. It was genuine, and it warmed him more than the soup did. He sat back, letting his stomach adjust to the food, but he already felt much better.

Neither of them said much as they finished the meal. The tension spread out between them, filling the empty spaces with a deafening noise. Now that he didn’t feel like he was at death’s doorstep, Bucky was painfully aware of everything that remained unsaid.

Y/N grabbed both bowls and took them to the dishwasher. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Y/N, for…for makin’ the soup and taking care of me.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky.”

“But I want to. I know the last few weeks have been hard on you, and you didn’t have to be so kind to me. Especially after how I acted when you left.”

She fidgeted. “I think we were both at fault, Bucky.”

Well, that was a surprise. She really did want to talk.

Bucky started to speak, but broke off into a dry, rasping cough, trying to hide a grimace of pain.

“Is your throat still sore?”

He nodded, and she turned and set a steaming mug on the counter in front of him. Tentatively, he took a sip. It felt like utter heaven to his raw throat.

“This is good—what is this?”

“Herbal tea.”

Bucky groaned theatrically. “Herbal tea—if only the guys could see me now.”

Her lips flitted up in a smile. “I guarantee you, they whine and drink the same stuff. Men are the biggest babies when they’re sick.”

“That’s not fair. And besides, how else am I supposed to act when I’ve got a pretty dame like you nursing me back to health?”

Y/N dipped her head, turning slightly to hide the smile and the blush on her face.

_Wait a minute—am I flirting with her? And she likes it?_

Hope welled within him. He was about to say something more, maybe something that would deepen that pretty shade of rose in her cheeks, but she cut him off with a hand under his arm as she helped him to stand.

“All right, tough guy. Back to bed.”

“Y/N—”

“Bucky, you’re still sick. You’re going to end up right back where you started if you don’t rest.”

“And I will, I promise,” he said, laying a reassuring hand on hers. “But right now I’d just like to sit and talk a bit, if you’re okay with that. I think we need to.”

She looked at him for a long moment as if trying to see something, and then her shoulders dropped. “We do,” she agreed.

Y/N sat down on the couch opposite him. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, carefully avoiding his gaze. It was a defensive posture, he knew, but at least she was here.

At least she was willing to talk.

_Here goes nothing._

“Y/N, I want to start off by apologizing for the way I acted that day we left the villa, and for the awful things I said after you snuck out. It was cruel, throwing that in your face. I was…” Bucky shook his head, remembering his terror seeing Rumlow watching her. “…and then I realized what I said and I heard you crying in there, and I just left. I’m sorry.”

“You were scared. It was a dumb thing to do, sneaking out like that, I know. I just…I missed my friends and I missed my old life. I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” she said, gesturing to the penthouse, “this is…well, it’s really wonderful, and would make any girl happy, but it’s just not me. I miss—”

“Sophie’s Place.”

She gaped. “How do you know that name?’

“When you left, I…I just about lost my mind.” Bucky wasn’t afraid to admit it to her, because it was the truth. “I called Jacob, and he gave me the address. The significance of the name wasn’t lost on me.”

Y/N suddenly looked like she’d been backed into a corner.

“Is that the leverage your father has on you? Is that why you agreed to the marriage?”

She nodded, and started filling in the missing pieces. By the time she was done, Bucky felt sick to his stomach. As someone who often spoke harshly when afraid, he understood Jacob’s tactic, but at the same time, his heart broke for Y/N and how she must have felt.

No wonder she hated him.

“All that’s beside the point now,” she said. “What’s done is done, and now we’re both stuck here.”

Bucky hated that. He hated that she felt trapped with him

“Y/N—”

“Please, I need to say this. Mistakes were made on both sides. Yes, you were cold and said some cruel things, but I’ve made mistakes too. Things are happening that I’m not aware of, _dangers_ I’m not aware of…because I didn’t let you explain them to me.”

“I wanted to hate you. Since the first time I saw you, I wanted to hate you. Before I even knew you, I’d judged you…painted you with the same brush I’ve painted my father. I have a very bad habit of doing that with people. I wanted to hate you, Bucky, but the more I got to know you I realized I was falling in love with you.”

Bucky’s heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, and he felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the flu surge through him.

“I care…very deeply about you Bucky, against everything my mind was screaming at me in warning. I liked the man I met in Romania, the man that peeks out around the edges of the mask you wear. I know the mask is necessary…in your line of work…and honestly that’s been my biggest struggle.”

Now they were getting to the crux of it. She was willingly and openly talking about his work. Bucky just listened, silently urging her to continue.

“I asked your mom how she does it. How she reconciles herself with all the violence and the killing, _where_ the money comes from, and who her husband has to be the second he steps out that door. She said that I have to ask myself what exactly it is that I hate so much about this life, separate it from the rest, and talk about it with you.”

While she talked, Y/N stared at the floor, twisting her hands together nervously. Now, she lifted her head and looked at him dead in the eye.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and I…” she took a shuddering breath. “I want to know everything. It’s going to be hard, but that’s the only way this is going to work between us. Trust and complete honesty.”

Bucky was stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

So he told her. Everything.

Y/N already knew a great deal about her father’s territory, so he explained to her how things worked in Brooklyn. He told her about the moving and storage company, a legitimate business that acted as a front, and he told her about Pierce wanting to move in on their territory.

“He’s ruthless and cunning. He backed your father up against a wall, and—I know you hate him, Y/N, but he had no choice. When families like ours get together, the smoothest way to merge the territories and end the rivalry is marriage. Everyone looks at that like it’s sacred, and they just fall into line.”

“I know how these things work, Bucky,” she said, failing to hide the bitterness in her voice. “It was a shrewd business move. Jacob has always been good at that.”

“It wasn’t just that, Y/N. Yes, merging with my father would strengthen his position, but Jacob did it to protect you. Pierce wanted to marry you off to his bastard of a son, Rumlow.”

“You mentioned that name before.”

Bucky leaned forward, putting a hand on her shoulder, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“He’s a bad man, Y/N. He’s unstable and sadistic, and he…he hurts women. I’ve never seen it myself, thank god, I only met him once, but I’ve heard stories.” He paused. “…and for some reason he’s got you in his crosshairs.”

She paled. Bucky took her hand in both of his, and tilted her chin so that she was looking at him. He hated seeing the fear there—he had to make sure she understood that she could trust him. That he would protect her until his last breath.

His eyes hardened and he spoke solemnly.

“Please, don’t be afraid. I won’t let him touch you. I’d kill the sick son of a bitch right now if I could, just for looking at you like that, but doing that would be like declaring open war. A lot of innocent people would get hurt. Rumlow will move on—people like him always do—and until then, we just need to be careful. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you need to trust me.”

He squeezed her hand. “I promise, Y/N, I will keep you safe. From him, and from anyone else who wants to hurt us.”

“Jacob made that same promise to my mother.”

That hurt. Hope turned to ash in his mouth, but he didn’t let it show. She was vulnerable right now, and he’d just heaped quite a bit on her shoulders.

“I know. But I don’t want you to live in fear, Y/N. I’m here, and I want you to feel like you can lean on me when you need to _. Let me_ protect you.”

She looked down at the floor, and he saw she was on the verge of tears.

“I don’t want to live in fear either, but how can you possibly protect me from this? How can you protect yourself? Because if it’s not Pierce or Rumlow it’s the next guy—when does it end?”

Bucky frowned. He didn’t have an answer for her.

“God! It makes me sound like such a horrible person, but it’s…it’s not the crime that bothers me. Not even the killing, as long as innocents aren’t being hurt. It’s the fear. The fear that we’ll never be safe, that…that you could be hurt or…or…”

Now the tears came.

Bucky drew her into his arms. His own eyes were starting to burn. She cared for him—she really did. Y/N was scared, but she wasn’t just worried about herself. She was worried for _him_. Maybe it wasn’t quite love yet, but it was a start.

This strong, beautiful woman had once again stripped away her armor for him. She’d let him in. She let him comfort her, and now, holding her like this, Bucky realized he’d do anything for her.

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and cupped her cheek, tenderly rubbing his thumb across her smooth, soft skin and brushing away the tears. She didn’t flinch or brush him off—she just stared at him, her eyes so deep and open and beautiful he felt like he could drown in them.

“I love you, Y/N. It’s something I hadn’t counted on either, but I do. I love you more than you’re probably willing to hear right now, but you need to know. When I married you, I promised that I’d love and protect you, and treat you as my equal, and I intend to keep that promise. We’ll figure this out together. No more secrets, no more lies. I love you.”

She didn’t say it back, but that was okay. It was a lot, he knew.

Without thinking he reached his other hand up, cradling her face, and he felt a rush as she leaned into his touch. Bucky leaned forward and kissed her. It was slow and soft and bordering on chaste, but it felt all the sweeter because it was real.

***

Later that night, you lay with Bucky in the oversized king bed and stared out at the stunning view of the Brooklyn Bridge. Your legs were tangled together, and his arm was wrapped securely around your waist, cradling you to his chest.

Outside the window the city showed no signs of slowing down, but you couldn’t hear the bustle from the quiet safety of your bedroom. The soft, steady heartbeat beneath your head and the gentle breaths of a deep sleep were the only things you could hear. 

His fever was gone, and although he was still weak, he’d been able to shower and eat a little more after your talk on the couch. The rest and food had done him a world of good, and you were glad he was feeling better—you hated seeing him suffer like that.

You snuggled closer and Bucky’s hand twitched in his sleep, his arm tightening around you protectively.

And that’s exactly how you felt. Protected. Safe.

Now the truth was out there for both of you. Bucky knew about the leverage, and you knew about the dangers. You understood why your father did now, even if you didn’t agree with his methods.

Bucky loved you. He’d said the words, but you saw their meaning echoed in his eyes. You weren’t ready to say them back, not yet, but you felt them in your heart. You’d made your peace with the mask he had to wear, justifying it to yourself because you loved the man underneath.

You were in love with James Barnes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+**, Fluff, Angst, Language, Smut
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Suicidal Idealization, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Chop. Slice.

Knives flashed and water boiled, while something soft and jazzy played on the Bluetooth speakers hidden under the kitchen’s upper cabinets. Garlic and onion sizzled in olive oil, the savory aroma blooming through the kitchen and enveloping you like a warm hug.

Across the aisle, you eyed your co-chef out of the corner of your eye. Bucky was dressed about as casually as you’d ever seen him, wearing dark jeans and a black tee shirt that was conspicuously tight—for your benefit, you suspected.

You blushed inwardly, biting your lip as you admired his figure. If he noticed, he sure didn’t show it, because he just stood at the stove, whistling along with the music while he stirred the sauce, adding ingredients here and there. You eyed the broad expanse of his back, pushing aside sinful thoughts while you reflected on the past week.

Yes. It had been a week since your mutual couchbound confession. Bucky had recovered fully from his bout with the flu, and the two of you found your relationship approximately where it had left off in Romania. A little hesitant, still feeling each other out, but the spark was back.

For both of you.

You smiled softly as you turned back to your cutting board, chopping tomatoes for the sauce. Behind you, Bucky turned slightly, watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze softened.

He came up behind you, careful to let you know he was there before he touched you, lest the knife you were wielding accidentally slipped. Bucky saw your smile widen, and he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Those tomatoes ready, or what?” He chuckled as you backhanded him lightly across the stomach. “I swear, you are the slowest chopper I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m the one doing all the work, jackass—all you have to do is stir the pan.”

Bucky hummed as if you had a point, and then he placed another slow kiss just behind your ear, and you nearly had to grip the counter to stay upright.

“It’s okay doll, take as long as you need. I’d wait forever for you.”

Somehow, you didn’t think he was talking about the tomatoes anymore.

Bucky blushed a little and smiled, seemingly pleased by the state he’d reduced you to. He’d been very careful not to push the past week, following your lead but letting his intentions and feelings known at the same time.

And you were grateful for it. You loved him, but you still needed to take things slow and at your own pace. You wanted to do this right, and you’d both seen firsthand how devastating miscommunication could be.

Bucky drew in a sigh, his expression growing more serious. Concerned.

“So…how’re you feeling about the dinner tonight? Are you nervous?”

You bit your lip. His parents had been invited to dinner tonight…along with your father.

The conversation from the prior week hadn’t ended that night. You and Bucky had continued to talk about your mutual worries and the way things had been handled, and as a result, one thing had been made abundantly clear—you had to confront your father.

You’d had a good relationship with him once, and if you were really being honest with yourself, it would be nice to have a relationship with him again.

At least one that wasn’t openly hostile.

Just like your relationship with Bucky, mistakes had been made on both sides. You now understood his motivation to push the marriage with Bucky, but you did _not_ agree with his methods or the way it was presented to you. You still felt hurt and disgusted by it. And while a small part of you still blamed him for your mother’s death…another, maybe larger part of you understood the reality of it.

Because you’d placed yourself and Bucky in the shoes of your parents. Your mother had accepted the consequences of being married to the mob, just as you were choosing the accept the consequences of Bucky’s profession and love him regardless. You imagined Bucky’s devastation if anything would happen to you, and you could understand a little better what your own father had felt.

You took the cutting board of chopped tomatoes and pushed them into the pan as Bucky stirred.

“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “It was so much easier to hate him, but to have this conversation…to actually talk about what happened…”

You pressed your back to the counter, and took his hands in yours. “The last time I had an open conversation with my father about what happened was over five years ago, and it nearly ended in blows. I think we’ve both come a ways since then…at least I have, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.”

Bucky rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, just tell me.”

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe…maybe just keep the liquor and the guns locked up for tonight.”

Bucky chuckled and pulled you into his arms, and you melted into his embrace willingly.

***

Seven o’clock, right on time.

Nat opened the door and Clint checked their coats. Although Pierce’s activity had diminished greatly, they were still on high alert, which meant bodyguards at any family function. George wasn’t taking any chances.

Bucky wiped his palms against his trousers. If he was nervous, he could only guess how Y/N felt.

“James!” Winnie had him swept up in a bone-crushing hug before he knew what was happening. “God, it’s been too long.”

“Missed you too, Ma.”

Then Winnie had moved on, gathering up Y/N with equal enthusiasm. George chuckled at his wife and clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Buck. You look good—sounded like you had one foot in the grave, last we talked.”

“I had a good nurse,” he said, giving Y/N a knowing smile.

She smiled back, but she looked past him and it fell immediately. Her expression hardened into something he intimately recognized, and Bucky knew without turning that Jacob had entered the room.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Y/N.”

Brusque, formal, and to the point. God, it was enough to break his heart.

“T-Traffic bad on the way over?”

“You know how 278 gets this time of night.”

“Glad you could make it.”

It was like watching two stoic titans locked in a battle of wits. Y/N may have gotten her mothers compassion and sensitive nature, but she also possessed a heathy dose of her father’s stubbornness.

He had a feeling they were all in for a long night.

To his immense surprise, dinner went off without a hitch. Maybe it was because the food was that good—Y/N had pulled out one of her mother’s old recipes, and it was admittedly one of the best meals Bucky had ever eaten—or maybe it was just the fact that everyone was too busy eating to bicker.

Probably the latter.

Then it was after-dinner drinks on the terrace, Y/N being the one notable abstainer. Bucky sat next to her, holding her hand tightly and trying to pass on feelings of encouragement as his parents prattled on about everything and nothing.

“Uh, Dad, could I speak with you for a moment?”

It was blurted out so suddenly it caught them all off guard.

Bucky recovered quickly. Y/N needed him. He gripped her hand and pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering in her ear and trying to ease her tension.

“It’s gonna be fine. Just say your piece and listen to his, and go from there. I love you, sweetheart.”

Her eyes found his, and his heart clenched seeing her anchor herself there. Drawing strength from him. She nodded, unable to say anything, and she stood, walking with her head held high and her father trailing in her wake.

“Should we be concerned about that?” Jacob asked once they were gone.

Bucky sighed. “It’s about Sophia.”

George and Winnie froze.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” George asked.

“It’s needed. Y/N isn’t as fragile as you and Jacob are making her out to be, and this…this needs to happen. This is what she wants. We’ve been talking a lot this past week, and things are better between us.”

“Good for you.” The fire in his mother’s eyes bolstered him, and Bucky smiled.

“Thank you. I know you had a hand in that.”

“Meddlesome—”

“You shut your mouth, George Barnes,” Winnie snapped. “If matters were left up to you and Jacob, we’d all be in a sorry state indeed. Honestly—thinking you could treat a marriage like a business merger!”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, and both George and Bucky grit their teeth. The conversation lagged, and Bucky took a measured sip of his drink before setting it down.

“Actually, Pop, there was something I needed your help with. Legally.”

Two bushy eyebrows raised.

Bucky explained what he wanted, and they raised even higher.

“Are you sure, son? This is—”

“This is what’s right. This is what I want to do—for her _. For us_. I know the risk I’m taking, just…please. Help me out.”

“George, listen to him,” Winnie said, placing a hand on her husband’s arm. “I see where he’s headed with this, and I feel like I understand Y/N enough to know that she needs this, too.”

George’s brow creased, but he nodded. “Okay. We’ll meet with Cohen tomorrow and get the ball rolling.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded.

***

“All right, Y/N, now that we’ve rudely removed ourselves from your guests, what was it that you so urgently needed to speak with me about.”

The barb was there, but you refused to rise to the bait.

“I want to talk about Mom.”

That shut him up.

Jacobs mouth clamped shut, and he made to brush past you. You moved, blocking the door.

“No. We—this needs to happen. I know I’ve made mistakes, but—but you have too. I want to lay everything out there. I _need_ to talk about this.”

Jacob stared at you. Seconds, minutes, you didn’t know—time seemed to stretch into eternity until his expression fell, and he let out a long sigh.

“That’s your mother in you. She always wanted to talk—about everything.” He let out a choked laugh. “I was so afraid you’d gotten more of me in you than her, but the more I see you, these past few weeks…I just see her.”

You stared at your father. Seeing him— _really_ seeing him. It had been five years since Sophie’s death, but the man looked like he had aged nearly twenty.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

The words surprised you both. “I’m…I’m sorry that you went through that,” you said carefully. “And I’m sorry that I pushed you away, after. Blamed you. It wasn’t your fault, and I was wrong.”

A long, long silence.

Jacob stared at the floor, his eyes as red as you knew your own to be. Finally, he let out a little huff and found your eyes. “You love him, don’t you?”

Another long silence.

“I do. And I understand. Now.”

Jacob looked at you, his daughter. The light of his life, no matter if you’d pushed him away or not. He sat heavily on the couch.

“S-Sophie’s death…” he paused, and cleared his throat. “Her death was a blow to us both. I know you blamed me, and I understood it because I blamed myself. It’s easier to be angry and bitter than to open yourself up when you’re hurting. We’ve never been good about talking, you and I.”

“Looks like we’re doing okay now.”

Jacob didn’t say anything. You’d never seen him like this, this open and vulnerable, and you felt like you were treading on very thin ice. Still, you weren’t going to let this night end without having said your piece.

“Bucky told me about Pierce’s offer. About Rumlow. I know everything.”

His jaw tightened, and it looked like he was trying to burn a hole in the rug just by looking at it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you—”

“It was for your own protection.”

You fumed. “Really? _That’s_ the only reason? Because I think you were more afraid of losing your hold on Queens. You were afraid that if you told him no, if I got spooked and left, then Pierce would just come in and take it anyway.”

“What would you have me do?” Jacob sat up suddenly, his tone short and clipped. “Call you in after five years to say, ‘Gee—sorry, daughter, but that life you hated so much? It’s dragging you back in now, only this time there’s a sadistic nutjob that wants you for his own, and he’s not going to take no for an answer.’”

“Yes! The truth would have been better than—”

Jacob snorted. “And you’ll honestly sit there and tell me you wouldn’t have just left after hearing that.”

He had a point. If Jacob would have come right out with the truth, you would have left as fast as your feet could carry you.

Your father grimaced like he’d tasted something sour. “Even if you did leave, even if Pierce came and took it all anyway, I wouldn’t put it past Rumlow to hunt you down and take what he wanted from you.”

You stomach clenched remembering Bucky’s warning, but you swallowed it back. You were not going to live in fear.

“I get it, Dad. It was a shitty situation. I don’t know, maybe there could have been another solution, but it’s done now. It’s just…what you did, what you said to me that day…” you shook your head, the anger and disgust returning. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How that sounded to me? First you threaten to destroy something I’ve worked so hard to build, something that honored Mom’s memory, and then…”

A harsh laugh, and you grit your teeth.

“…and then in what I can only describe as the most repulsive proposition I’ve ever been offered, you inform me that the only way to save it is to go along with your scheme to whore me out to the rival family. To marry a man I’ve never met, to be a ‘dutiful wife’ and—”

“Y/N, that’s enough.”

“You told me to service him, Dad! To provide a child so the marriage would look good.”

Your father propped his jaw on his hand, staring straight ahead. His face was beet red, and you weren’t sure what came next. The explosion, or—

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Or…or that.

“I was terrified. I couldn’t tell you the truth, and I knew you’d never go along with the marriage, so that was the only thing I could think of. I know exactly how it sounded. I just needed you to understand the severity of the situation. It doesn’t excuse it, believe me, I know.”

He drew in a shuddering breath. “You’re my baby girl, Y/N, and I love you. I’ll always love you, no matter how much you hate me. I’m so sorry you were dragged into this, and I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. For what I said and did. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you, Dad.” You blinked away the tears that had formed. “I love you. I don’t like you very much, but I do love you.”

Jacob huffed a laugh that held no humor. “Fair enough.”

“Whatever was said, whatever was done, it’s over now. We can’t change it.” You shook your head. “But despite all of that, I’m actually glad it turned out this way. I’m happy.”

“Are you really? You’re happy with him?”

You were surprised at how easy the smile came to your face. “I love him, Dad.”

Jacob smiled too, for the first time that night.

“I’d hoped…James is a good man, and it was almost too much to ask for, but I hoped that he could make you happy. Despite what you may think, I do want to see you happy.”

You both lapsed into silence, equally shellshocked by the progression of emotions that had passed in the last few minutes. The silence was a little awkward, the truce between you still new and tentative, but it was a start.

***

The morning sun was streaming in through the tall windows, slotting across the bed and warming the blankets deliciously. A lazy Sunday morning—Bucky could get used to this.

Y/N was cocooned in his arms, her back pressed up against his chest. Bucky drifted in the hazy in between of not-quite-awake, aware only of the warmth of her body against his, the sweet scent of her hair, and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. He felt the tempo change as she started to wake, pulling him up with her.

She sighed happily and rolled over, burying her face in his chest. Bucky chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Y/N froze, and she blinked up at him in surprise.

“You honestly didn’t forget it was your birthday, did you?”

“Um…”

Bucky stared at her for a second, and then he let out a groan that dissolved into laughter. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you? That’s…of course you did.”

She hid her face in the pillow. “I feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t, I think it’s adorable. Of course you’d forget your own birthday—you’re always worrying about everyone else. And it’s not like we haven’t had anything else going on.”

He kissed her shoulder, working his way up to her neck until she giggled and peeked out at him. He kissed her lips.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, and as always, Bucky felt warmth bloom around his heart, spreading right down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Then she leaned into him, and as always, her kiss halted any coherent thought and had his stomach doing backflips. That’s how it was for him—whether soft or passionate, she had the ability to reduce him to a quivering mess.

Which was exactly how he felt now. Bucky groaned and shifted his hips away from her so she wouldn’t feel his massive hard-on, but it was too late. He blushed and she started to say something apologetic, but he shook his head, silencing her with another kiss.

There had been plenty intimate moments since that night on the couch, but they had yet to reach the level of intimacy they’d had in Romania. It was the longest Bucky had ever gone without sex. He wanted her, only her, so badly it was just about killing him, but he absolutely refused to push her.

It was an exquisite form of torture. The kisses and touches, cuddling together on the couch or in bed. He saw her warming to him more and more each day, but although he could see in her eyes that she loved him, she had yet to say it out loud.

And that was okay. Her heart was still fragile. She wasn’t ready yet, but Bucky would wait for eternity if that was how long it took. She was worth it.

“So, birthday girl, what do you want to do today? Anything you want, although I do have something planned for tonight.”

He could barely contain his nervous excitement, but he’d have to, if he was going to make it until the evening. Y/N looked up at him, surprised and pleased.

“You mean you don’t have to go in to the office today?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

_Forever and always._

***

It had been a good day.

No, scratch that. It had been a great day. One of the best you’d shared with Bucky yet, and your heart was skipping with a lightness you hadn’t felt since Romania.

As birthdays go, it had been pretty low-key, but that’s what you wanted. You cooked breakfast together, and then you read for a bit while Bucky played piano. You hadn’t made much progress in your book—terrible progress, actually—because you only had eyes for him.

If Bucky knew you were watching him, he was being deceptively coy about it. He looked so completely relaxed, his shoulders loose and his long, graceful fingers flying over the keys, and the look on his face was one of pure happiness.

You loved seeing him that way.

It was a cold, rainy day, so after lunch you’d both cuddled together under a blanket, dozing and trading lazy kisses that hinted at something more.

And it was that _something more_ you wanted. You wanted it and you knew he did too, but there was still a small, lingering fear holding you back, afraid you’d get hurt again if you completely let go. One little corner of yourself that still didn’t entirely trust him.

But you wanted to.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shook your head to clear it and turned away from the rain-spattered window. “Nothing, just wondering where we’re going.”

“I told you, it’s part of the surprise.”

Bucky seemed really excited, and it was catching. You’d just about had to pick your jaw up off the floor after he told you that he was taking you out to dinner—you hadn’t left the Tower in a week. Despite his excitement, though, you didn’t fail to notice the second car or the added security detail. Wherever you were going, it must be worth it for him to go to this much trouble.

“Turn up here, Jack, and duck into the alley. I want to use the rear entrance.”

The driver nodded. Jack Rollins was a relatively new addition to the security detail, serving both as an extra bodyguard as well as chauffeur. Bucky trusted him and he seemed to get on well with Nat and Clint, but something about the way he looked at you creeped you out.

You frowned as the car made the turn. You knew this street, it was—

“Are we going to Emilio’s?”

You were nearly jumping up and down with excitement. Emilio’s was your favorite restaurant—a bit of a dive, but the food was phenomenal and the owner was a sweetheart. You, Wanda, and Pietro used to go there every Friday night after work.

“You caught me,” Bucky laughed. “You really have been up in that Tower too long, doll, I was sure you would’ve figured it out before now.”

“Oh my god, thank you—this is perfect!”

Bucky just chuckled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. He took your hand and led you up to the rear entrance of the restaurant, just as Nat was exiting.

“All clear, boss. Clint’s covering the front and I’ll be inside with you—your guests have already arrived.”

“Guests?” You looked up at Bucky in confusion, but he simply thanked Nat and held the door for you.

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink.

The restaurant was packed, but he expertly steered you towards a corner table with open views of both entrances.

“Y/N!”

A flash of red hair, and you were nearly knocked off your feet as you were swept up in a tight hug. Wanda was nearly squealing with delight, and her brother stood behind her with a huge grin on his face.

“Wanda? Pietro? How—"

“James called us,” Pietro said. “He said he wanted to surprise you for your birthday, and we helped him plan this.”

“This…this is…” Your eyes were starting to burn. Damnit, you didn’t want to cry. “God, I missed you guys so much.”

Pietro hugged you tightly, and behind you, Bucky cleared his throat.

“That’s something I’d like to fix, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled out your chair for you as you all sat down at the table. Your head was still whirling.

“Our…security problem seems to have gotten better the last few weeks,” he said carefully.

You suddenly realized that although he had contacted your friends and set this up, they still were completely unaware of his mob affiliations.

“I’ve been working it out with Nat, and after taking a look at the layout of the shelter and talking with Wanda and Pietro here, I think we’ve come up with a way you can start to get out a bit more. See your friends, work at the shelter—there’ll still be restrictions, but—”

You nearly knocked him out of his chair with your enthusiasm. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him, hard.

Across the table, Wanda giggled. Bucky had turned a deep red, but his eyes were shining with adoration.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as you found your seat again, and in that moment, you almost said it back. You wanted to, more than you ever had, but it was a private and heartfelt emotion that you didn’t want to share with everyone.

Not yet.

You floated through dinner. Bucky fit in with your friends naturally, and by the end of the night your face hurt from laughing and you were stuffed with all the good food.

It was nearly ten o’clock when you finally all pushed back from the table, reluctantly saying goodnight with the promise that you’d both visit the shelter to work out the details of your return next week. Bucky even got a hug from Wanda and a handshake from Pietro, and you thought there was no way the night could get any better.

You were wrong.

“I’ve, um…I’ve got something for you.”

You were both sitting in the living room. Bucky was next to you on the couch, but in stark contrast to his attitude all day, he was nervous. His smile was weak, and his hands were trembling slightly as he worried the corner of the manilla envelope he was holding.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

“I’m…yeah, I’m just…fuck. Okay.” He took a steadying breath.

He opened the envelope, and handed you the first of two packets. You were worried about what was making him so anxious—you couldn’t begin to guess, and when you looked down at the paper in your hand, you were even more confused.

“It’s…tax forms? And the deed to a building?”

“Look at the address.”

You did, and then gasped. It was the deed to the building that housed Sophie’s Place, as well as a pro-rated receipt for the next ten years’ worth of property tax. The deed had been placed in the charity’s name.

“I know how much Sophie’s Place means to you, Y/N. I’ve been there, I’ve seen the people and the good things you do there, and I understand now. Wanda showed me.” He took your hand in his, a little clammy, but they were steadier now. “No one will ever take it from you or threaten it again. It’s safe.”

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat, not trusting yourself to even speak right then.

“Bucky…Bucky, I…”

He squeezed your hand. “Just wait a minute, um…there’s more.”

He handed you the second packet, and you felt like the world had just dropped out from under your feet.

Divorce papers. Signed and witnessed.

Suddenly, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Bucky saw the look on your face, and his eyes went wide.

“No, no! You don’t understand—shit—I’m such an idiot!” He gripped your arms. “Please, Y/N, calm down. I-I didn’t mean to upset you—goddamn it, I’m fucking this all up.”

Now you were really confused. Bucky took an unsteady breath, gathering himself.

“I love you, Y/N. You…you have my heart. You have all of me. For the first time in my life, I feel complete, like I’ve found something I’ve been looking for all along. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, to share everything with you, and to make you happy.”

He stared at you desperately, but you could read the pain in his eyes.

“But…”

His face tightened. “But I don’t want you to be forced to stay. I can’t do that to you. I won’t. I’m setting you free, Y/N. I will protect you until this thing with Pierce is over, but after that, if you want to leave…”

Bucky was trying valiantly to hold it all together, but it was a losing battle.

“If you want to leave me after, you can. I want it to be your choice, either way. I want you to be happy.”

He closed your hand over the papers, and the look on his face broke your heart.

“All you have to do is sign.”

You were speechless as you stared at the papers. Bucky had just handed you your freedom—from him, from the mob, from all of it, and you could only imagine how much it hurt him to do that. He wanted it to be your choice, something you hadn’t been offered once since you sat down across the desk from your father, all those weeks ago.

He had just given the shelter a guarantee of protection, and now he’d given you the freedom to make your own choice.

You didn’t need a minute to think it over—right then, right there, you knew in your heart what your choice was.

Carefully placing the shelter’s paperwork on the coffee table, you took the divorce papers in hand and tore them in two.

“I choose you, Bucky. Today, tomorrow, and always. I love you.”

Bucky let out a sob, his throat working. “S-Say it again.”

“I love you, Bucky.”

His outline blurred a little as you gave him a watery smile. You tossed the torn papers onto the floor and climbed into his lap, kissing him long and deep as you put weight behind your words.

“I love you,” you murmured again.

Then his arms were around you, and the force of his passion was enough to leave you dizzy.

“I love—god, I love you so much, Y/N.”

The tears were running down his face now, too. Bucky kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, and you felt your toes curl and an old, familiar ache flare between your legs. Your hands snaked beneath his shirt, grazing against soft skin and taut muscle, and his breath hitched.

“I need you. Now. I-I want you, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky whimpered and stood, gripping you by the thighs and carrying you into the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

It was both sweet and desperate. Eager mouths hungrily found flesh, hands touching and grasping. Finding all the secret and sensitive places, mapping each other’s bodies and whispering each other’s name as you found each other again. 

When he entered it was slow. Gentle. Bucky watched you unfold beneath him in ecstasy as he moved, setting a pace that both gave and took as the heat smoldered between your bodies.

Your fingers tightened against the long muscles of his back, urging him on, telegraphing your need as you moved with him. Gasping, panting together as you watched each other come undone.

After, you lay in a tangle of limbs, skin shining with sweat, chests heaving and hearts beating together as you came down from your high. Bucky looked at you, reverently caressing your cheek.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You smiled. You’d tell him over and over again, every minute of every day if that’s what he wanted, because it brought you such joy to mean it.

“I love you.”

Another kiss, soft and sweet, and he murmured his answer against your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Angst, Fluff, Abduction, Panic Attack, Threatened Violence
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**One month later**

“Wanda, do you know if that order of paper towels came in yet? We’re out in the bathroom again.”

“Um…let me look.” Wanda paused a moment, and then her head poked out of the supply room. “Nope.”

You sighed. “I’ll give them a call, that’s twice they’ve stiffed us.”

“I’m sure they just forgot.”

You hummed absently as you popped another Tums and scrawled a note down on your already crowded blotter to call the supply company. Your stomach had been acting up lately, and today was the worst day yet. Wanda’s eyes flicked to the Tums bottle.

“You feeling okay, sweetie?”

“Just an upset stomach, nothing else. Must’ve eaten something bad, Bucky and I have been branching out in the kitchen lately.”

“I think it’s so cute you two cook together.”

“Yeah.” Just the mention of food made you want to run right back into your towel-less bathroom, so you hastily changed the subject. “What’s on the docket for today?”

It was the same way you started every morning down at the shelter—the meeting of the minds. Of course you all knew what was scheduled, but it still helped to make sure you were all on the same page, especially when it came to some of the more delicate cases.

“Sorry I’m late! I brought bagels and coffee. Y/N, I snagged you the last—”

“Yeah, uh, just put them over there, thanks Pietro,” you cut him off, waving absently to the table furthest from the little cluster of desks.

Wanda and Pietro glanced at each other, but said nothing.

“Well, we’ve got another family coming in this morning, a mother and two children,” Wanda began. “Mom’s a little beat up and the kids are scared, but they’ve cleared medical and the police have what they need, the father’s in lockup. They’ve got some family they will be contacting. They would like some help with transportation and I’ve arranged for a little extra TLC for the kids.”

“Let me know what time they get here, I want to be there.” You jotted another note down. “Okay, so that brings us up to a full house. I’ll reach out to the other shelters in the area and see if they can help us with overflow, I don’t want to push anyone along faster than they need.”

You looked down at your notebook. “I’ve got review on three of my cases today, Lucy’s going to need some extra help on hers. Carol’s coming in to help us out.”

Lucy was one of your frequent fliers, unfortunately. A fourteen-year-old nonverbal girl with Autism, abused by her stepfather and the mother refused to press charges. Carol was one of the best Autism Specialists you knew, and you were really hoping you could tap her vast resources to get Lucy out of that situation and get her the help that she needed.

By the looks on the faces of your friends, they agreed wholeheartedly.

“Eddie said he’d swing by with Venom again today, I can point him in your direction.”

Eddie was another volunteer, and he always brought his terrier mix “Venom” alone. Scary name for a pint-sized ball of fluff, but the little pooch always lifted everyone’s spirits, especially the kids. The last time he was here Lucy didn’t want to let him go.

“Thanks, Pietro that’ll help a lot. Oh—how’d your group go last night?”

“It was a huge success,” he mumbled around a bagel. “I was blown away by the turnout. Men can be hesitant to seek help with domestic abuse, and…it was a little tense at first, but we really gained a lot of ground. I think all the advertising helped get the word out.”

You smiled. The new advertising was Bucky’s idea.

Bucky was true to his word. No, more than just true. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly behind this new task, personally overseeing the new security measures at the shelter and reviewing exit strategies and protocols with you in case something happened. He was calm, patient, and he knew what he was doing, but you could still read the fear that lurked in the shadows of his face.

He didn’t require you to have a bodyguard while you were physically in the shelter, but he insisted on keeping one posted outside the building. You didn’t balk at the restrictions. On the contrary, you felt reassured seeing the lengths he was going to keep you safe.

It wasn’t only the security though. Bucky actually helped out at the shelter when he could. Pierce had unexpectedly backed off, and although they were remaining on their toes, it was back to business as usual. Which meant Bucky had more free time.

Some afternoons he’d surprise you at the shelter, bring by a little lunch or a cup of coffee from your favorite shop. His eyes would light up seeing you in your element. He jumped in enthusiastically, not afraid to roll up his sleeves and work. He washed dishes, helped in the kitchen, and even organized the infamously cluttered supply room.

You smiled inwardly. It was official, you were head-over-heels in love with him. His birthday gift to you had been the turning point in your relationship. Bucky loved you enough to let you go, to let you be the person you wanted to be. And in turn, you were encouraging him to embrace the person he wanted to be as well.

Sweet and thoughtful. A generous lover, both in and out of the bedroom, he’d given his heart to you and never asked for anything more than you were prepared to give. He trusted you, asking your opinion on business matters and keeping you informed of his other, less-than-legal activities.

Another lurch from your stomach brought your thoughts back to the present. Pietro’s onion bagel was starting to get to you.

“Uh, I’ll be right back,” you said hurriedly as you rushed from the room.

Back in the towel-less bathroom, heaving up more clear bile. Your stomach didn’t have anything left to bring up, but it was still trying as hard as it could.

You didn’t understand it. No fever, no chills, no other symptoms whatsoever. Bucky’s bout with the flu had been over a month ago, so it couldn’t be that. You tried to eat bland foods to keep your strength up and to make sure there was at least _something_ in your stomach, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t keep the nausea at bay.

Wanda was lingering outside the bathroom as you exited. You halted in surprise, and she grabbed you by the arm, pulling you back inside.

“When was the last time you had your period?”

The question hit you like a bucket of ice water to the face. “Uh…a month ago?”

“You don’t really seem too sure about that.”

Shit. How long had it been? You were always pretty regular, never had much cause to think about it before…though, now that you _did_ think about it, the last one you remembered was before the wedding.

Almost two months ago.

Wanda read the look on your face. “Nausea, only in the morning. Irritability. Mood swings.” She ticked each one off on her fingers. “You can’t even remember the last time you had a period. And, if I might pry a bit, I assume you and James have, uh…done the deed?”

“Jesus, Wanda.” You felt your face heat.

“You ever think you might be pregnant?”

Another bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god, that’s it—you’re pregnant!”

You shook your head. “Wanda, I’m just stressed.”

“Really? Because this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“People can be happy and still be stressed…” you let your voice trail off, biting your lip because you knew she had a point. True, you and Bucky had been pretty active in the bedroom lately, but there had been almost a month there where you and he could barely look at each other, let alone have sex, and before that…before that…

Romania.

_Holy shit._

“Pregnant.” The word felt foreign in your mouth, frightening and wonderful at the same time. “Wanda, I think…I think you might be right.”

“Um, is this a good thing?” Wanda was trying to gauge your reaction. “I know you and James had some problems in the beginning.”

“I don’t really know what to think right now.”

Which wasn’t quite the truth, because despite your fear of the unknown, a warm bloom of happiness and excitement was bubbling up inside you.

Images flashed through your mind. Bucky standing behind you with a soft smile and his hand on your swollen belly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. Cradling the child you’d made together. Bedtime stories and breathless giggles, the three of you cuddled together on the couch.

A family.

Wanda saw the smile start to spread across your face as you realized just how much you wanted it to be true. How much you wanted to have a family with Bucky.

She pulled you into her arms. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N.”

“But I don’t even know if I am—”

“I’d be shocked if you aren’t.” She gave you another squeeze. “Go. Take the rest of the day off, I’ll cover your cases. Take a pregnancy test to make sure, but just rest—I know you aren’t feeling good today.”

You hugged her back. “Thanks, Wanda.”

“And call me as soon as you find out!” she hollered after you.

You floated, your head in the clouds as you gathered your things and left the building, smiling inwardly as you ran your hand over your abdomen. Thinking about the wonderful secret that might be growing there, and how much it would change your lives.

The town car was waiting in the alley, right where it always was. Usually it was Nat or Clint driving, but today it was Jack, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as he held the door open for you.

“Thanks, Jack,” you said as you slid into the front seat. “Could we make a quick stop before we head home? I want to pick up a couple things at the drugstore.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Always polite and detached. Coldly formal. Usually Jack’s attitude bothered you, but today you hardly noticed. Your phone was out and you were busy Googling anything and everything related to pregnancy and babies.

You were knee deep in articles from “The Bump”, when you realized he was heading the wrong way.

“Jack, where are you going? The drugstore’s the other way.”

He didn’t say a word. He just stared straight ahead, seemingly focused on driving.

Movement behind you. 

You barely had time to register the arm reaching from the back seat before the gloved hand clamped over your mouth, and you felt a sharp sting in the side of your neck. Panicked eyes shot up to the rearview mirror, widening in horror as you recognized the face.

Brock Rumlow.

Your vision swam, and as the world slipped sideways you head a dark laugh and a gravely voice in your ear.

“We’re gonna have some fun, you and I.” Another laugh. “Nighty night, sweetheart.”

Then the darkness crashed over you, and you were gone.

***

Bucky’s steps were light as he exited the elevator onto the penthouse level, whistling a little tune and fumbling for his keys. His steps echoed off the polished floor, and he was already pulling his tie loose with a little smile on his face, looking forward to a relaxing evening with his wife.

Bucky didn’t think he could love her any more than he already did, but every day proved him wrong.

The simple, caring gestures. First at the shelter where he witnessed her compassion firsthand, and then later at home, the little things she would do for him, the smiles and the touches. The way she looked at him, as if the world began and ended in his eyes. The soft, sweet mornings with her in his arms, and the breathless nights that threatened to burn them both alive.

He’d been handed a rare and wonderous thing, indeed.

Y/N was fiercely strong. She’d borne the weight of his profession with grace, and it was now an open subject between them. He began to see more of Jacob in her than he realized, her empathetic heart tempered with nerves of steel and a quick, sharp wit coming in handy on more than one occasion when he’d sought her opinion. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she was his, just as she possessed him, body and soul.

Bucky felt like he was flying—he had felt that way ever since Y/N’s birthday, and his feet hadn’t touched the ground since.

Little did he know he was about to crash and burn.

“Y/N, I’m home. Sorry I’m just a little bit late, traffic wasn’t the best and I—”

Bucky’s mouth snapped shut. The lights were off, the house dark and empty.

“Y/N?”

Unease began to bloom in his stomach, a green, sickly feeling. He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and wandered into the back hall, calling her name a few more times before he fished out his phone.

She wasn’t there.

After the first time the call rolled over to voicemail, he told himself she probably just got hung up at the shelter. A small crisis with a new case, perhaps.

After the third time, he started to panic.

Bucky dialed the number to the shelter, and Wanda’s response sent his heart into overdrive—Y/N hadn’t been feeling well that morning, and had gone home early.

Jack’s phone went to voicemail also.

_Where is she—where is she?! What if she’s sick, what if she’s—oh god, if anything’s happened to her—_

The phone in his hand buzzed to life, and Bucky nearly sobbed in relief seeing her picture on the screen.

“Y/N, sweetheart, where are you? I called the shelter, Wanda said you left early…”

Silence.

“Y/N? H-Hello, Y/N, are you there?”

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

The man said the name slowly, rolling each syllable around as if he were tasting them. “It’s a strong name. A strong name for a strong man, only…you _do_ have a weakness now, don’t you?”

The world fell out from under him. He knew that voice.

Alexander Pierce.

“I assume I have your attention now, James. It seems my previous attempts with your father have been a failure—he just can’t seem to get the message. So, I’ll be taking a more direct route with the son. After all, you _are_ the future—”

Bucky’s hand gripped the phone. “Where’s Y/N. What have you done to her?”

“Don’t interrupt me James, it’s rude. As I was saying, I’ve gotten nowhere with your father, so now I’m going to deal with you. You and I are going to do great things together, if you only learn to play by my rules.”

A great and terrible black rage was building behind his eyes.

“Now, let me explain how this is going to work. Y/N is alive—for now. As long as you play by my rules she’ll be returned to you, but if you cross me, I’ll start mailing pieces of her back. And trust me, they’ll be pieces she wants.”

Bucky listened as Pierce explained what he wanted. In short, everything. Complete control of both Brooklyn and Queens, with a meet between the three bosses to hash out the details.

“No bodyguards, no weapons, no tricks. I even get a hint that you’re trying something, and—”

“You’ve made your point, Pierce,” Bucky growled. “If any of your men so much as touches her, I will burn down your world.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Pierce said, then he hung up.

For several minutes Bucky just stood there, motionless, the phone still held up to his ear. With a choked gasp he dropped it, sliding bonelessly down to the floor on legs that refused to hold him.

_They took her, they took her, oh god—Pierce has her which means that Rumlow has her—_

Bucky was spiraling down, horrible images flashing across his eyes. He gasped her name, breathing way too hard and fast as the panic threatened to rise up and choke him.

Y/N, his sweet girl. His heart.

_Not her, not her, please, if anything happens to her I’ll—_

Except something already had. They’d taken her, and that alone was enough.

_Calm down. Get it together Bucky, panicking isn’t going to get her back. It won’t save her._

Deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to slow his racing heart, pushing his panic and worry down as deep as they go. Donning that icy, blank mask, strapping on his armor in order to save her. Hands stilled, and his face smoothed out. 

All that was left when he opened his eyes was a cold, black rage.

Bucky stood. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked into the closet, opening up the safe and pulling out his second shoulder holster along with several magazines. Those went into the pockets of his jacket. A bulletproof vest was next, his shirt carefully buttoned over it before he slid on both holsters.

Bucky put his jacket back on and tied his tie, and then—and only then—did he feel calm enough to make the phone call.

Steve answered on the first ring.

“What’s up, Buck?”

When he spoke, his voice was steady and cold, utterly devoid of emotion.

“Get everyone together at the warehouse. We’re going hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here we go. I know this has been mostly a romance up until this point, but this is a mob fic, and the warnings are there for a reason. It’s going to get dark, but remember that no matter what, there will be a happy ending. The next few chapters are going to be rough, and I will be providing detailed trigger warnings for the next few chapters, it might take away a little bit of the suspense/surprise, but I don’t want anyone to get upset. Please heed them, they’re there for a reason. Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Dark!Rumlow, Sadism, Rape, Elements of Non/Con, Asphyxiation, Torture, Panic Attack, Murder, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Minor Character Death, Heavy Angst, Dissociation, Mental Instability
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we are. Needless to say, I am very nervous about this chapter, it was incredibly hard to write as I’ve never written anything this dark before. While there is no actual penetrative rape, the warning is still there for the heavy non/con sexual acts. Please, please, please heed all the warnings and proceed with caution. If you think that any of this is going to bother you, just skip this chapter, the next one will pick up with healing and recovery.

Consciousness didn’t rush in as much as it slowly meandered back, returning lazily but with an underlying current of urgency you didn’t quite understand. _Wake up_ , it whispered, but that was exactly the opposite of what you wanted to do. You felt terrible. Your head was pounding, and when you dared to open your eyes the room was over-bright and spun sickeningly.

Oddly enough, your first thought was that you were back in college. Surely you had to be, because you hadn’t felt this hungover since then.

_Dear Christ, what the hell did I do last night?_

One thing was for sure—you weren’t in the penthouse. The sheets were scratchy, and the room smelled stale and sour and faintly of disinfectant. It made you want to throw up. Groaning, you started to raise your hand to your face, but it stopped with a jerk.

Your eyes snapped open.

There was a handcuff around your wrist, the other end trailing over the side of the bed. For a moment you just stared at it stupidly. It caught the light, glinting sinisterly as you struggled to process what you were seeing.

You tugged on it. Slowly at first, then faster and with a rising sense of horror, as if it would just magically disappear if you pulled on it hard enough. Someone had handcuffed you to a bed in a strange room, and you couldn’t remember how or why— _wait_.

Jack. The car. A pinch in the side of your neck and a low voice in your ear, two dark eyes staring eagerly back at you from the rearview mirror.

Brock Rumlow’s eyes.

The first ragged gasp left your lips, high and strained in your ears. You tried to sit up, but you’d barely managed to slide your elbow underneath your body before you were pulled back down to the bed by the handcuff around your other wrist. 

_No, no, no, no—_

Something inside you broke. Frantically, you tugged on the restraints as every single thing you’d ever been told about Brock Rumlow began playing over and over in your head. The bed creaked and groaned as you mindlessly struggled, heedless of the way the cuffs bit at your skin as you yanked on them.

_Off, off, get them off—Bucky help me! Please!_

You thrashed against the bed and felt a sharp pain in your left arm as something shifted wrongly. That only spurred you on, a new wave of terror washing over you as you struggled even harder against the restraints. Brock had cuffed you to a bed, which meant he was coming back, and the thought of what he was going to do sent a new thrill of terror coursing through you.

You screamed for help. As loud as you could, until your throat felt raw. Surely someone had to hear you, right? You were still in the city. Someone _had_ to be close, someone _had_ to hear you…right?

But you weren’t quite sure what time it was, or even what day. Even worse, you had no idea where you were.

“My God—all that racket! You’d think I’ve got a wildcat chained up down here instead of a pretty little goody-two-shoes like you.”

Instantly, you froze. Brock was leaned up against the doorframe, smirking at you in amusement.

“But just look at you—hair all messed and screaming so prettily for me. And I haven’t even done anything yet.” He lazily pushed off of the doorframe and grabbed a chair from the corner, flipping it around and resting his arms on the back as he sat.

The air was heavy with tension. Brock looked at you, slowly letting his eyes travel down your body.

You felt naked under his gaze. Raw and horribly exposed.

His eyes lingered on the cuffs, on the bruises that had been raised there and the ragged, torn flesh from where you’d struggled against them. Then down your face, over your heaving chest and then lower, his lips tugging into a faint smile as you shuddered and squeezed your legs together.

“You know,” he said softly, “before, when Pierce first offered you to me, you were nothing more than a piece of ass and a means to an end. Then when your spineless excuse for a father double-crossed us, I just couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about.”

He leaned closer, the chair creaking ominously. “I’ll admit, I got a bit obsessed. I followed you. _Watched_ you. Saw how the great James Barnes fawned all over you. A hard bastard with ice in his veins, reduced to a simpering love-struck fool all over a pair of tits with a savior complex. A gal who normally wouldn’t give the likes of him the time of day.” He cocked his head. “Now that I have you though, I get it.”

Your heart was hammering, your body thrumming with each panicked beat as he got up and sat on the edge of the bed. You knew he could see you trembling, eyes blown in fear, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Brock leaned over, laughing cruelly as you recoiled from his touch.

Yet the cuffs held you fast, and you shuddered as his finger lightly brushed your jaw. Softly, almost tenderly, making your skin crawl. You jerked your head away from him.

Suddenly, Brock grabbed your jaw and squeezed. Hard. Turning your head, and forcing you to look at him.

“Yes, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Unbidden, tears rose in your eyes as the pain in your jaw increased. “Innocent. Sweet. Heart of pure fucking gold. Is that what turns Barnes on—your innocence? Well, you ain’t gonna be so innocent when I get—”

_Wham!_

You jerked your knee up as hard as you could, landing a lucky blow to his kidneys. Immediately, the pressure in your jaw eased and you gasped in relief as Brock went sprawling on the floor. He was sucking wind, struggling up to his knees with a hand on his lower back and murder in his eyes.

“Fucking bitch!”

He backhanded you and your head snapped to the side. You tasted blood and the room dimmed, the ringing in your ears temporarily drowning out the rest of his cursing. He viciously kicked the chair into the wall and you heard it shatter.

Then he threw his head back and laughed. The sound was utterly insane, and terror bled through your every vein, rising up and choking you as you watched him slowly turn.

“Good! I like it when they fight back.”

A penknife materialized in his hand. You kicked at him but he simply hit you again, the force of the blow momentarily turning your limbs to jelly as he climbed on the bed, straddling your hips and pinning you down. The knife flicked up under your chin, and you immediately stopped struggling as a thin trickle of blood ran down your throat.

“Wise move, sweetheart. Don’t want to slip and end things too quickly.”

You were trembling. Dizzy with pain. The blade sunk a little bit deeper in warning, and Brock started to unbutton your blouse, watching you the whole time. Eyes dark like the predator he was.

There was blood in the water now, and he was hungry.

***

“We found the car.”

Bucky looked up at Steve as he approached, pausing the security footage of the alley outside the shelter. If he was glad of the news he didn’t show it, his mouth set in a grim line as he raised his head.

“It was dumped in an empty lot off the Grand Central Parkway, just outside of Briarwood. No sign of Rollins.”

“Fucker better be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Clint muttered. Rollins had been his hire, and he took the betrayal personally.

Steve didn’t respond. That kind of thinking wasn’t helping, not if they wanted to find Y/N.

“We did find a matchbook in the footwell from a OTB lounge up in Washington Heights. It’s not from any of our guys, so I’m sending someone over to check it out.”

Bucky stood. “I’ll go.”

His voice was cold, his tone final. Steve knew better than to argue with Bucky when he was like this, so he simply turned and followed his friend across the garage. He understood Bucky’s need to do something— _anything_. The waiting and the inactivity was tortuous, and he seriously doubted he would be handling things any differently if Peggy had been taken instead of Y/N.

Pierce’s move had shocked them all. Sure, kidnappings and death threats were hardly uncommon in their line of work, but to snatch up the boss’s wife like that? It was a suicide move, and that’s what worried Steve the most. It made him feel like he was missing something.

Bucky got in and started the car without even waiting for Steve to get in. A muscle in his jaw was ticking wildly, and Steve’s expression tightened, seeing the depths of his friend’s worry and anger. He looked like a man about to burn down the world.

“Buck, we’re gonna find her. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky froze, his hand on the shifter. “You don’t know that.”

It was said through clenched teeth, and he glared blackly out the windshield as he shifted the car into drive and pulled out into traffic.

***

Your head lolled back, rolling on the mattress as you fought to keep your tenuous hold on consciousness. The last blow had been the worst one yet, retaliation after you’d nearly bitten Brock’s lip off when he tried to kiss you.

You were naked now, every secret exposed as you lay helpless beneath him. Brock was still fully clothed. He was a man who liked to play with his food, but you knew that would only last so long.

You had quickly learned that he liked it when you screamed. You tried to fight it at first, to not let him have that satisfaction, but in the end didn’t really matter if you did or not. The results were the same, either way.

A rough hand on your breast, squeezing. Grasping. Pinching until you cried out. Pulling at your hips, sliding down your belly, foul breath panting harshly in your ear. A tongue forcing its way into your mouth, the penknife back again and carving lines into your flesh, little wells of blood that were eagerly lapped up. Teeth biting your shoulder as he ground obscenely against your hips. A sharp knee to your ribs as you tried to pull away again.

You had also learned that whatever damage you inflicted upon him was returned to you tenfold. The room spun sickeningly. You couldn’t tell where the pain ended and his hands began.

Still, you fought. You fought for yourself, and you fought for Bucky.

_Bucky’s coming for me. He’s coming, he’s coming, I just have to hold on…_

You fought to stay conscious, you fought to keep Brock off of you, even as his fingers roughly dipped between your legs and pushed inside.

You screamed.

Hips bucked. Brock’s hand fisted your hair and he yanked hard, pulling you up off the bed. Your wrists screamed in agony, but that was nothing compared to the violation that was happening between your legs.

Pain bloomed, white hot. You choked, legs kicking uselessly as he worked his fingers inside, and he laughed darkly as your body turned traitor against you. Slick coated his fingers, and you writhed in horror as a familiar feeling of warmth started to burn low in your belly. 

_Stop! Stop, I don’t want this, I don’t—why—Bucky, please! No!_

“Tight, sweet little thing you are.” Brock hummed, his breath washing over you. He abruptly released you, letting you fall limply back on the bed as he stood.

You lay there, shaking uncontrollably. Everything hurt, your body one big mass of pain, throbbing in time with your panicked heartbeat. Brock tenderly cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb across your lower lip, but you didn’t even have the strength to try to bite him.

“I’m really gonna enjoy taking you apart. Don’t worry, though—I’ll leave just enough of your face to keep you recognizable when your dear old Bucky comes for you. I want to see the look on his face when he sees what I’ve done.”

Brock saw your expression, and laughed. “Oh yeah—didn’t I tell you? You’re the bait.”

_Bait? Bait—oh, God, it’s a trap. Bucky—no!_

Brock was still talking, even as he walked over to a side table and took a long pull off the bottle that was sitting there. “Pierce fed him a line of bullshit about using you as a hostage for a merger, but we all knew lover-boy was coming for you in the end. Not very bright, your man—as if we’d actually let any of you walk away after everything that’s gone down.”

Anger flared, and despite your fear and pain, you growled up at him, speaking for the first time. “Not g-gonna work, you sick fuck. He’ll never fall for it. James Barnes is going to tear your world apart, and you’ll be b-begging for death before the end.”

“Oh honey—don’t you see? You’re his weakness. He’d do anything for you.” Brock laughed and shook his head. “No, Barnes is coming, and when he gets here I’m gonna make him watch while I take every last thing from you, right before I put a bullet in his brain.”

It was said so matter-of-fact, like _you_ were the delusional one, and his words chilled you to the bone.

“But before he gets here, though, I’m gonna have a little taste.”

He started to reach for his belt buckle.

***

“Fuck you,” Rollins spat at him.

For the past hour, Bucky had been working him over like the man was his own personal punching bag, while Steve calmly stood clear of the blood spatter and asked the questions. The fearsome rage on Bucky’s face was terrible to behold, even worse than the sounds of Rollins’ screams as he broke first his fingers, then his kneecaps.

“Where’d he take her?” Steve asked again.

Silence, then a scream as the bat connected with his shin.

They were getting nowhere. Bucky was a master interrogator—not an accolade he was particularly proud of, but one he’d earned the hard way. It was something they both understood. Years of being beaten themselves, first by bullies at their fancy boarding school and then later by rival families when they’d had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of an interrogation. Fights, scraps—what-have-you. They both knew how much pain the human body could take, and exactly where to inflict the most of it without compromising the victim.

Bucky didn’t say a word. Coldly landing blow after blow, slipping his knife into the soft flesh where he knew it would hurt the most but do little in the way of permanent damage.

But Rollins still refused to crack.

They’d found him, not at the OTB lounge on the matchbook, but shacked up with a hooker three blocks away. The lounge’s bartender hadn’t wanted to give up the address at first, but one look at Bucky’s face and the man quickly dimed his friend out.

From there it was just the same old game. Questions and answers. Once they’d found the town car abandoned in Queens, Steve had the hunch they had been headed to Long Island. There was rumor that Pierce owned a summer property there, but they didn’t have the address.

“…jus’ g-gonna kill me ‘nyway,” Rollins slurred.

“That’s a given,” Steve said. “But it’s up to you how hard you go out. Answer the question.”

Bucky was shaking. Steve could see it. Not his whole body, but in his hands, ever so slightly. He was at the end of his limits emotionally, and honestly, Steve didn’t know what was stopping him from ripping Rollins’ throat out.

Still, that was only because he knew him so well. On the outside he was cold and emotionless, the blank mask on his face perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Bucky calmly plucked his knife from the table. Eyes never leaving Rollins’, he bent down and placed the tip of the blade just below the man’s lower eyelid. He pressed. Rollins choked, and his eye started to bulge against the socket.

Steve saw it, saw the fury there, and realized they were at endgame.

“Here’s where we start cuttin’ off things that you want,” he said. “So…last chance. Where is she?”

Rollins blurted out an address, his eyes wide and rolling.

Bucky removed the knife and looked over at Steve to make sure he got it down. Steve nodded.

In one swift movement, Bucky’s hand shot out, connecting with Rollins’ throat with a sickening snap. Rollins jerked and writhed in the chair, choking as he struggled to draw air through his crushed windpipe.

Steve snorted in disgust, and pressed his gun to the man’s temple. Rollins was starting to turn purple, thrashing wildly. As Steve’s finger tightened around the trigger, Bucky spoke for the first time.

“No. Leave ‘im.”

He turned his back on the dying man, and walked swiftly towards the waiting car. Steve jerked his head at Clint and Nat.

“Get rid of that,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards Rollins. “Hey, Buck—wait up.”

Bucky slid into the driver’s seat, punching the address Steve had written down into the GPS.

“Bucky.”

Nothing.

“Bucky, you can’t just go charging in there. That place is probably crawling with Pierce’s guys—going in there alone is suicide.”

“Give the address to Barton and Romanoff if you’re such a pansy then. Text it to Dad and Jacob, I don’t care,” Bucky growled as he peeled out. “If you honestly think I’m going to waste one more second on some kind of plan while that bastard has her, then you don’t know me at all.”

Steve’s heart clenched. “No, Buck, that’s the thing. I _do_ know you, and you’re walking into a trap.” The situation became clearer, even as he said it. “It’s a trap, and Y/N is the bait.”

“It’s me that put her there in the first place.” Bucky turned to him, letting the mask slip for a moment. “It’s Y/N, Steve. _My Y/N_. Rumlow’s got her, and it’s all my fault. Call anyone you want, rally the guys—I don’t care. I can’t just sit here and do nothing while he’s…he’s…”

He choked back a sob, face contorting in agony for one brief moment before he managed to stuff it back down again. Bucky blew a breath out between his teeth, and the steering wheel creaked ominously. He shifted, merging onto the interstate.

“What if it were Peggy, hmm? What would you do then?”

“I’m with you Buck,” Steve said firmly. “Trap or no trap, I’m with you— ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky’s eyes were focused on the road as he sped around cars doing nearly ninety, but Steve saw his jaw clench. A raw, open terror lay there, hidden behind a cultivated mask that was starting to slip.

***

In the end, your savior came in the form of a nameless stooge, knocking on the door to the room where you were being held.

“What is it?” Rumlow hollered.

“Pierce wants you topside, Brock.”

“I’m busy.”

“Now. They’ve got Jack.”

Brock stilled. You could feel the heat from his body as he hovered over you, his stinking sweat choking you as he hovered there, jeans undone and hand around his cock as he readied himself, lust-blown eyes raking lewdly over your naked body.

“Brock.”

His head twitched in irritation. Leaning down, he licked a possessive stripe up your front and pressed his mouth to yours. When you fought against him, he gripped your throat and squeezed.

“I’ll be back—don’t you worry. I ain’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”

A final press of his mouth against yours, a hateful weight against your lips as you struggled feebly. Brock watched you in fascination, squeezing ever tighter until you were on the brink of passing out again, and he released you.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

It was delivered with such nonchalance that you fought back a hysterical laugh, even as you gasped for air. You tried to muster your strength to bite back a stinging retort, but the door was already shutting, and he was gone.

You were alone.

For several long minutes, you simply stared at the door. Then the panic rose again, sickly sweet and crushingly devastating. You sobbed, struggling mindlessly against the restraints once again as you reeled in horror over what had already been done and what had been promised.

Blackness was starting to close in again. Your heart was racing, impossibly fast as you pulled uselessly against the cuffs. Brock’s scent, his touch consumed you, and you flailed against your restraints as you started to give in to the panic.

_No! Calm down. You have to calm down. This isn’t helping. Bucky’s coming for you, you have to stay strong. Bucky—just think about Bucky._

Stormy blue eyes, bright and shining with depthless love for you. The soft curl of his mouth as he smiled, your name sweet on his lips. You could almost hear it. His hands, so strong yet so gentle, tenderly cradling your face as he smoothed away your tears.

_Shh…it’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m coming. You’ve been so brave and so strong. I know you’re tired but you have to fight. You just have to hold on, just a little bit longer. I’m coming._

Bucky. You heard his voice, as clear as if he were standing right there in the room with you. It filled you with warmth, with hope, and gradually you felt your body relax and the shaking subside.

Bucky was coming for you, for better or worse, and you had to stay strong. You had to survive.

You closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths to clear your head. The panic was still there, but it had been reduced to a white noise in the background. You needed to _think_. You needed to get free.

For the first time since waking up, you looked around the room. You were in a basement, tiny windows that were too small for a person fitted close to the ceiling and patched drywall on all four sides. A door. A table, and on it what looked like a fifth of whiskey. The one Brock had been drinking. The remains of the ruined chair. Your clothes, piled haphazardly in the corner.

So, in essence, not much.

No, if you wanted to free yourself, you were going to have to get creative.

You’d read in books and seen in movies how the hero could pick handcuffs with a bobby pin or shim, but you didn’t have either of those. You stared at the cuffs for a long time, observing how they sat on your bruised wrists. They were rather loose, especially the left one. You had a vague idea of what you could do, but the idea of it made you sick to your stomach.

_You have to fight._

Bucky’s voice in your ear.

_Be strong for me Y/N, I’m coming._

Your stomach clenched as you rotated your body, sitting up as much as you could so one hand was in front of you and one behind. You didn’t hesitate—Brock could come back at any second, and you needed to be quick about this before you lost your nerve. You planted your feet against the headboard, one on either side of your wrist, and yanked as hard as you could.

Blinding pain—worse than anything you’d ever known—but you felt your hand slip free of the cuff.

You laughed, the sound high and breathless. Blood immediately started to ooze from your injured hand, but you didn’t stop to survey the damage. You didn’t have time, and it didn’t matter anyway. Adrenaline surging, you scooted to the side of the bed, shouldering the bedframe up so you could slip the end of the cuff securing your other hand off the foot of the bed.

Free. You were free.

Sort of.

Racing to the corner, you tugged on your clothes, a fumbling process with only one good hand. Then you tried the door, not surprised when you found it locked.

The pain in your hand was starting to get worse. You snuck a look and gagged, immediately wishing you hadn’t. It was misshapen—clearly broken and bleeding freely from where the cuffs had torn into your skin. Not life threatening, but you were already weakened and couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.

_Stop the bleeding. Bind it up, then find a weapon. He’s coming back._

Bucky’s voice in your ear again. Calming you. Guiding you. Keeping you from losing control.

Hastily, you tore a long strip off the bedsheet and bound your hand. The bones grated together and you felt your gorge rise, and you forced yourself to take long, slow breaths as another wave of dizziness washed over you. Finally, it was done.

Now you needed a weapon.

Whatever the distraction was, you knew it wouldn’t last forever—Brock would return, and you had to be ready for him. You looked around the room.

The whiskey bottle. A possibility, but that would mean you would have to get close to him, something that you wanted to avoid at all costs. Then your eyes slid over the ruined chair Brock had smashed against the wall.

A sturdy chair leg. One with a couple of nails poking out of the top. Sturdy but lightweight enough to swing with one hand, and possibly just enough to do the job—or so you hoped.

_Good girl. Now get behind the door, and when he comes through you hit him as hard as you can. Stay strong for me sweetheart, I’m coming._

You could almost feel Bucky standing right there next to you, and you drew strength from his imagined presence. Vaguely, you wondered if you were losing your mind.

Long minutes passed. Now that you weren’t tied to the bed, now that you had a weapon in your hand and the vague outline of a plan, the panic and horror was easier to compartmentalize. Your hand throbbed and your body ached, but adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay for the most part.

Suddenly, you heard shouting and the distinct sound of gunfire. It was distant, but it was getting closer.

_Bucky!_

Footsteps echoing urgently down the hall, and you heard Brock’s voice as he shouted to someone.

“It ain’t just Barnes, it’s all of them! Hold them off—I’ll get rid of the girl.”

The doorknob started to turn. You gripped the chair leg tightly, palms sweaty and heart racing.

_Aim for the head. Don’t hesitate. Swing as hard as you can, because you’re not gonna get another shot._

The door opened.

“Change of plans, sweetheart, I’ve—” The words died in Brock’s throat as he stepped into the room, and he realized the bed was empty.

Without hesitating, you swung the chair leg as hard as you could. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack, and he went down like a sack of concrete, gun flying loose.

_Run!_

You didn’t pause to look back, you just turned and sprinted towards the open door.

You were almost there when a hand closed around your ankle.

It tugged and you fell hard, landing on your broken wrist and your already damaged ribs. Darkness threatened to overtake you and you choked back a scream, kicking blindly at your attacker. Your foot connected with something solid, and you felt the hand loosen its grip. You rolled, scrambling for the gun.

But Brock was bigger than you, and faster. He snatched you up by the hair and slammed your head into the floor, and you felt something give.

Red. All you could see was red, running down both his face and yours. Brock flipped you over, his face murderous as he leaned in close. His eyes were wild. Crazy. And as his hands tightened around your throat, you realized he was going to kill you.

Weakly, you scrabbled at his face, fighting back with the last of your strength as the blood roared in your ears and your chest heaved for air that wouldn’t come. The world started to fade, greying at the edges, and you shut your eyes tightly, not wanting his face to be the last thing you saw.

Suddenly, the pressure let up and you rolled to your side, coughing and gasping. The air burned as it hit your damaged throat, but you’d never tasted anything sweeter and you sucked it down greedily.

You were still conscious enough to see the blurry outline of Brock, laying on the floor several feet away and feebly trying to get up. Then a dark figure descended upon him, hands that you knew so well grasping him by the shirt and hitting him over and over and over until his face was unrecognizable.

A final twitch, and Brock lay still.

Then those hands were lifting you up, cradling you to his chest as he felt for injury. Whereas Brock’s hands brought only pain, these hands left soothing warmth in their wake, and you sluggishly blinked your eyes open to find two brilliant blue eyes frantically looking down at you.

“…Bu…cky…” It was barely whispered, each syllable a fight.

“Shh…don’t try to talk. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Carefully, as if you were made of glass, Bucky lifted you and carried you out of the room. “It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

The pain was fading now, a soothing warmth taking its place. Bucky cradled you and soothed you, his voice soft and low in your ear. It sounded sweeter than the prettiest melody, and you smiled faintly as you lazily let your eyes drift shut. His voice became more insistent and he jostled you a bit, but he sounded very far away. You were just so tired, and now that you were back in his arms, you could finally rest.

You were safe.

***

“Y/N. Y/N, stay with me.” Bucky carefully laid her across the backseat as he watched her eyes drift shut again. A towel materialized in Steve’s hands and he snatched it up, gingerly pressing it to the gash at her hairline.

“Drive,” he snapped.

“I already called ahead. Banner’s at the house, he’s expecting her.”

Bucky’s head shot up, hearing the name of the family’s personal physician. “No. Hospital.”

Steve watched him from the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the parkway.

“Buck, are you sure? They’re gonna ask questions.”

“I don’t care. I’m not taking any chances, not with her. Tell Banner to meet us there, tell him—” his voice hitched. “Tell him he’s lookin’ at head trauma, a broken wrist and ribs— _fuck_ —possible internal bleeding—”

“I got it Buck, I’m on it.”

The car picked up speed. Bucky swallowed thickly as he checked her pulse, watching her chest rise and fall. He knew it was a risky move, taking her to a hospital, but he’d be damned if he was going to risk her life by having Banner treat her in a back room somewhere like a common criminal.

Bucky cradled her in his arms, jaw clenched tight against the fear that was threatening to knock his legs out from under him.

Blood—there’d been so much of it. How much of it was Rumlow’s and how much was hers Bucky wasn’t sure, but the sight of it made his stomach lurch. Not that he was any stranger to the sight—oh no. It was the fact that it was _her_ blood, that she had been _hurt_ , and he had failed to protect her.

It was on his hands now, and he wasn’t sure if it was ever going to come off.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the horrible image of Rumlow crouching on top of her from his mind. Fingertips brushed his cheek, and he looked down.

“Bucky.” Her eyes were open—well, one of them at least—and the terror and pain he saw there broke him.

“I’m here, sweetheart, I’m right here. You’re doing so good, we’re almost there.” Bucky took her hand in his and lightly kissed her knuckles. It was one of the only places that wasn’t marked or stained with blood.

“…’s it over?”

Bucky couldn’t suppress a sob. “It’s over, Y/N. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“…love you…”

“I love you too, Y/N.” He kissed her knuckles again. “So, so much. You’re gonna be okay—we’re takin’ you to the hospital, they’ll—you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure her or himself. He kept repeating it, over and over. Murmuring the words into her bloody hair as she relaxed in his arms and her eyes drifted shut again.

Now that he had her he felt nearly paralyzed with fear. Fear over what had been done to her, and how close he had actually come to losing her.

It was going to be okay. _She_ was going to be okay…eventually. He would make sure of it.

But Bucky? He didn’t know how he would ever be okay again, because he knew he would never be able to forgive himself for letting this happen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m available in the comments if you want to talk about this chapter, I only ask that you be nice. This is my first time writing something so dark, and I’m a little nervous about it. I know it’s hard to read this as a serial, so I I will tell you that Bucky and Reader will recover, they just have a long road ahead of them. And the baby will be fine, even though nobody knows about it yet. If I’m missing any trigger warnings, please let me know, I tried to get them all, but there are a lot. As always, thank you for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Rape Recovery/Aftermath, Medical Procedures, Medical and Psychological Discussion of Rape and Trauma, Guilt, Anxiety, Angst, Discussion of Pregnancy, Dissociation/Flashback
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all your kind words and encouragement with that last, difficult chapter. This one (and the next few) are also difficult, because they’re dealing with recovery. So, same warnings apply, please heed them.
> 
> Also, I'm not a medical professional, my knowledge is from Google and crime shows. All mistakes are my own.

There was a crack in the linoleum. It ran along the edge of the faded cream tile, skittering across as one crack split into several and bled into the tile next to it. A delta of tiny cracks, easy enough to miss until you really started to look for them. There was dirt in the cracks, pressed down too far for a mop or broom to catch. Even here in a private hospital suite at Brooklyn Memorial—a luxury few people unfortunate enough to pass through the doors ever got to see—even here, there were cracks in the floor.

And all the power, all the money in the world couldn’t stop the dirt from catching on their edges.

Bucky stared at the cracks in fascination. Part of him refused to believe he was here. That this was actually happening. It was a detached, surreal feeling. After the nurses had taken her, Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to even breathe until Banner returned and told him that Y/N was stable, and that they were taking her back to surgery.

The waiting room was where the world was yanked out from under his feet. Where it all came crashing down, all his carefully constructed walls to hold back the rage and terror.

Thank god it had been a private waiting room, because George Barnes had strode through those doors like the four furies themselves. 

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” he hissed at his son.

Bucky just clenched his jaw and continued burning a hole in the floor.

“George,” Winnie warned.

“James, look at me when I’m talking to you. Do you have any idea how big of a mess you just made? Jesus H. Christ, I never took you for a hothead but this—”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You acted without thinking! I’ve got nearly a dozen—” George glanced at the door and quickly lowered his voice. “—a dozen bodies that you left piled up in that big old house, Steve and Clint running around trying to do damage control, cops breathin’ down my neck, Pierce is in the wind, and you’re here in a goddamn _public_ hospital, two detectives right outside the door just _itchin’_ to talk to you—”

“What would you have me do?” Bucky was on his feet now, rounding angrily on his father.

“Not blindly rush into a trap, for starters!” George shrugged off Winnie’s hand when she tried to calm him. “You’re damn lucky Steve was able to get ahold of the guys in time. What if it had been more than just Rumlow and a few goons, hmm? What then? I’d be visiting what was left of my son and his wife down at the morgue instead of here—”

Bucky exploded. “Are you honestly gonna stand there and say you would have done anything different in my shoes?! They had her, Dad. They were _hurting_ her. Torturing her, and if I had gotten there even five minutes later—”

“Stop.” Winnie positioned herself between the two men, forcing them apart. “Stop this right now, both of you. This is neither the time, nor the place for this.”

She looked at Bucky and pointed to the bathroom. “James, go wash up. You’re covered in blood. And you,” she turned to her husband. “you say you have a mess to clean up? Then go clean it. You’re not doing anybody any favors by digging into this right now.”

Tempers flared. Emotions spilling onto the floor, loose and messy.

But Winnie’s jaw was set, and with a final glare at each other, both men retreated to their separate corners.

The bathroom was where he started to fall apart. It was the blood. He scrubbed and he scrubbed until his skin was raw. It was under his nails and caked into the lines on his palm, rust-colored and stinking with the pungent smell of violence.

Mostly Rumlow’s, but plenty of it was Y/N’s as well. His knuckles were bruised and swollen from where he’d hit Rumlow, and he could still see the man’s skull coming apart under his hands like a rotten pumpkin. Far from the first man he’d ever killed, but it was the first one he’d taken apart like that with his bare hands.

And he wished he could do it again. A hundred times over for what that bastard had done to her.

Bucky stood there for several long minutes with his head under the faucet, the water so cold it almost hurt. Deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to wipe the image of her broken body being taken from his arms and laid out on a gurney. An oxygen mask on her face. Penlight shone into her eyes and IV placed, vitals called out as they wheeled her away from him. More shuddering breaths as he tried to wipe the image of what he could’ve found in that horrible room if he’d arrived just a little bit later.

_Get yourself under control, Barnes, you’re no use to her like this. She was strong for you. She survived. Now you have to be strong for her. You have to BE THERE for her._

When he exited the bathroom, Winnie was alone in the waiting room. Bucky sat heavily next to her, and lowered his head into his hands. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

“I’m not going to make excuses for your father,” she said quietly. “He was out of line. We both know it. He gets vicious when he’s scared, and when he heard you’d taken off after Rumlow alone…”

“I wasn’t alone, I had Steve.”

“I know. What’s done is done, and he needs to get over that. He may be the head of this family, but Y/N is your wife, and this was your call, as much as it scared us both. He blames himself for this, you know.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “And you think I don’t?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have come in here like that. This isn’t about him, it isn’t about me. This is Y/N’s life we’re talking about, and I will _never_ apologize for going after her.”

“Nor should you.” Winnie sighed. “You two have always butted heads. It’s fine if you’re on the same page, but when you’re not…” she sighed. “It’s the piano all over again.”

The piano. That particular argument between the two men was old, but right now it just reminded Bucky of Y/N. Of a certain late night in Romania, and lazy afternoons in the penthouse when he had played for her. Bucky swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Ma. I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

Winnie looked at her son sadly and started to speak, but she was interrupted the next moment by Jacob’s entrance.

The mob boss of Queens, a man who was both feared and respected, entered the room as if he wasn’t sure if he was in the right place. As if he wasn’t sure if he was welcome. Winnie immediately got up and swept Jacob up in a hug—as was her way—but the expression on the man’s face didn’t change.

Regret and remorse. Emotions Bucky understood all to well.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Any word?”

“She’s still in surgery, it shouldn’t be too long now,” Winnie said.

And so Bucky waited, staring at the cracks in the floor and wondering what came next.

Finally, Banner emerged, looking tired but satisfied, and Bucky straightened in his chair expectantly as the doctor took a seat.

“They moved her up to recovery, a private suite. George got rid of the detectives, Nat’s posted up outside. The administrator agreed to let me act as attending,” he said, with a thankful nod to Winnie.

Bucky wasn’t surprised. It helped when you had more money than god and your mother was on the hospital’s board of directors.

“How is she?” he asked hoarsely.

“She’s sedated, her vitals are strong and she’s resting comfortably. She lost a bit of blood, but we gave her a transfusion and she’s responding well.”

Bucky felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, and he nodded at Banner to continue.

“Her CT scan looks good, no sign of brain damage but we’re monitoring her closely. She sustained a significant amount of head trauma—fractured skull and cheekbone, a bone deep laceration along her hairline. Severe concussion, but she regained consciousness long enough to answer some questions. Three broken ribs on her left side, two on her right, internal bruising but no bleeding, so that’s good. Numerous contusions and lacerations, they’re very clean. Looks like they were made with almost surgical precision, easy to stitch up and shouldn’t scar much.”

Bucky took it all in stride, noting each injury with a tight nod and a calm face all while screaming internally.

“The worst of it really was her left arm.” Banner said. “Hairline fractures to the ulna, torn ligaments, dislocated thumb. Severe fractures to three of the metacarpals, they’re the long bones in the hand. A partial de-gloving injury, from where the handcuff caught against the skin. She said the injury was self-inflicted to, uh, escape the handcuffs.”

The blood drained from his face, and his stomach lurched. Banner continued.

“We’ve got an excellent orthopedic surgeon on staff here. He was able to reset her hand, installed several pins and two screws. There’ll be some severe scarring, but with physical therapy she should regain full use of her hand.”

Banner shifted uncomfortably. “There were, uh, several bite marks that were cleaned, and we administered a full-spectrum anti-biotic. I consulted with Dr. Helen Cho, she’s the OB-GYN on staff here—she’s very good and has the utmost discretion—and if it’s okay with you I’ll bring her in to discuss the results of the rape kit.”

That word. Just hearing that word sent his stomach plummeting.

Bucky wasn’t a fool, he knew what might have happened in that room, but hearing it cut him to the core, nonetheless. Winnie sensed it, and took his hand. Jacob, on the other hand, continued to stare at the floor like a man dead to the world. A non-entity.

_Be strong. Be strong for her._

Dr. Helen Cho was a slight woman with a kind face. A face used to touching on sensitive topics. After a brief introduction, she settled herself next to Banner and folder her hands primly in her lap.

“First of all, I’d like to ask how far in-depth you would like me to discuss Y/N’s results?”

“Just tell me. Everything,” Bucky croaked. If she’d had to endure it, then he could stomach hearing about it.

Helen nodded. “Y/N was lucid enough to answer some of my questions, which helped immensely. Even though she said her attacker didn’t penetrate her sexually, there was still clear evidence of abuse, so we ran the full rape kit just to be on the safe side.”

Her face tightened sympathetically. “There were several internal tears and contusions. She’ll have some minor spotting and pain, but I prescribed a topical corticosteroid, and I expect she’ll heal fully. There was no presence of semen—”

With that, Jacob stood abruptly and left the room.

If Helen was surprised by his reaction, she didn’t show it. She leveled an appraising glance at her remaining audience and continued.

“There was no presence of semen, but we ran the full STD battery regardless. I should have the results by tomorrow.” Then, she brightened slightly. “I also conducted a full obstetrical exam including ultrasound, and I can assure you that the baby is perfectly healthy.”

Bucky’s heart stopped.

You could have heard a pin drop.

He felt Winnie looking at him. It felt like everyone was looking at him, but Bucky’s brain had seized along with his heart, and he was currently incapable of coherent thought.

_Baby. The baby. Is okay. Perfectly healthy._

“How far along?” Winnie asked quietly.

Helen frowned. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Bucky whispered.

A long silence.

“Eight weeks.”

_Eight weeks. That’s…Romania. She’s been pregnant ever since…oh, god._

Eight weeks pregnant.

Three words. Three little words with such an exquisite duplicity. Bucky wanted to weep with joy, to take Y/N in his arms and kiss her senseless, and at the same time, he wanted to scream in horror. It felt like his heart was being squeezed in a vice, and it was getting hard to breathe.

“I want to see her,” he blurted. Suddenly, he was on his feet. “I need to see her. Please.”

The two doctors looked at each other. “Okay, we can take you up. She’s sedated, though—”

“I don’t care. Just take me up there. Please.”

Winnie’s hand was on his arm. “James, do you want me to come with you?”

“No Ma, not just yet. I’ll be okay, I just need to see her.”

“Okay. Okay. I should probably go check on Jacob and tell him the news.” Even Winnie seemed unsure of how to react to Helen’s announcement. She warily watched her son as he followed Helen and Banner down the hall and into the elevator.

The ride up was a little awkward, both doctors realizing that nobody had known about the baby and they had inadvertently told the entire family. Banner shifted uncomfortably.

“She’ll probably be in and out of it for a few days, but once she’s lucid enough we’ll need to discuss physical therapy.”

“Okay.” Bucky felt numb.

Helen turned to him. “Mr. Barnes, with your permission I’d also like to send my colleague by. Her name is Dr. Pepper Potts, and she’s a therapist that specializes in rape recovery.”

Now he just felt sick.

“I know this is a lot to handle right now,” she said gently, “but I think it would be beneficial for you both to talk with her.”

Somehow, he found his voice. “Okay, yeah. Yes. That sounds good, um, thank you.”

Sure enough, Nat was posted outside Y/N’s room. The bodyguard carefully avoided his eyes, and Bucky was grateful. He was vulnerable, he was hurting, and he was absolutely terrified to walk though those doors—he didn’t want his people to see him like that.

And the worst part of it was, he felt selfish. He felt selfish for feeling that way, to admit his vulnerability and his hurt and his fear when he should be able to swallow it down and be strong for her. Because whatever he was feeling was nothing compared to what she’d gone through.

_You better get your shit together, right the fuck now. That’s your pregnant wife in there, and she needs you._

Y/N— _his Y/N_ —was lying in bed, fragile and ashen and surrounded by machines. Banner was talking again, but Bucky couldn’t hear the words. It felt like he was watching the scene from outside his body. Numb legs propelled him to the chair next to the bed, and there he sat.

He didn’t even hear them leave.

Bucky forced himself to look. Forced himself to see every cut, every bruise, every hurt that had been done to her, even the ones he couldn’t physically see. The ones that were etched on her heart, in the shadows of her face, and he knew they would be with her for a very long time.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. For the first time in his life, he was confronted with something he couldn’t punch his way through, because although the man who was responsible for this was already dead, the evil still remained.

No, that wasn’t true. Because Bucky knew _he_ was also responsible for putting her in that hospital bed, first by loving her and drawing her into his dark world, and then by failing to protect her.

For the longest time he just sat there watching her breathe.

Y/N. His brave, brave girl. How hard she’d had to fight. What she’d had to do to save her own life—god, what she’d had to do just to escape the handcuffs…how strong she was, to keep fighting in the face of all that horror.

Bucky felt a strange, misplaced pride for her, and somehow, that made him feel even worse.

His eyes drifted down to her belly. Of course, it was far too early for her to be showing, but he imagined the wonderful secret that was sheltered there. Their child.

He wondered if she knew.

Hesitantly, Bucky reached out and touched her outstretched fingers, his own holding remarkably steady. Hers were cold. He took her hand in both of his, trying to warm, to soothe that one spot, the only one he wasn’t afraid to touch.

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m here and you’re safe. I’m…” he swallowed thickly. “I love you so much. So much that the words don’t seem like they’re enough. So much that I feel like…”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, the muscle ticking away in his jaw as he bit back the tears.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry I didn’t do enough. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, didn’t keep my promise. I’m so…s-so…” Bucky’s voice trailed off. It wasn’t any use. Words just didn’t cut it.

The first ragged sob bubbled up, and this time he didn’t try to stop it.

***

The first time you woke, you were back in the basement.

Your wrists throbbed where the cuffs bit into them, arms too heavy to lift. Blood rushed in your ears, threatening to cleave your skull in two if you so much as cracked an eyelid. The sheets were scratchy, and the room smelled of disinfectant and blood.

“…no, no, no…”

The words sat heavy in your mouth. They felt wrong, loose and spilling out in a tumble. He must have drugged you again. You’d fought him too hard and now he’d drugged you, and—

_Gotta fight. Gotta survive. He’s coming back. He’s coming back, and when he does—_

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe.”

Fingers caressed your cheek, and you flinched away in horror, heart racing as you struggled to sit up.

“No, honey, you’re hurt. You can’t get up yet.”

Warm, strong hands gently guiding you back down onto the bed. Hands you knew well, but in your panic they felt like a lie. You thrashed against them, crying out as pain exploded in your wrist and side.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s Bucky. You’re safe, you’re—” His voice broke. “Please, just calm down.”

Another lie. Bucky wasn’t here, he was just a voice in your head. In your blind terror, you could feel Brock’s hands on you again, leaving a fiery trail of pain in their wake.

Alarms were blaring, a fast and frantic beeping as more voices were added to the mix. More hands, holding you down.

“Y/N, stop! Please, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You felt a creeping warmth flood your veins, and you cried out for Bucky as the world faded to black once more.

***

The next time you woke there was warmth and pressure. A lazy, delicious warmth that flowed through you, carrying away any pain before it could even be felt. The pillow was soft underneath your head, and the warm weight of the blankets pressed down on you, making you feel safe.

The warmth seemed to be radiating from your right hand, and even as you thought about it, there was a comforting squeeze. A slight increase in pressure, drawing you up and out of the hole. 

You opened your eyes.

The room spun slowly, and you felt a detached giddiness that hinted at some serious pain meds. A hospital room, with dim light filtering in through the window as rain pattered gently against the pane. Everything was fuzzy, but somehow you could see every single drop of rain. Then something shifted next to you, and two beautiful eyes were staring back at you.

They were exactly the same color as the rain.

“Bucky.”

His eyes shifted up to the monitors and then back down to you, his lips curling into something that resembled a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey sweetheart, how’re you feeling?”

To be honest, you were flying. Soaring though a technicolor landscape of stardust and moonlight, the edges blurred and softened, melting away the hurt as he looked at you, and even the worry in his eyes was beautiful.

You could remember the horrors of that basement room, but right then they seemed a tiny, insignificant speck. Not something to be concerned with. The world began and ended in those beautiful blue eyes, and for now, it was all that mattered.

You smiled and reached out to him.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Bucky took your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm and resting it against his cheek. It was warm, and his eyes squeezed shut as you rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone.

“You came for me. I knew you would.”

Bucky choked back a sob, but he said nothing.

“I love you, Bucky.”

His shoulders fell. “I love you too, Y/N. I’m so—”

“Lay with me?” You cut him off, blissfully needy. “Please?”

His mouth opened and closed. In your dazed state, you couldn’t see the emotions warring just below the surface.

“No, sweetheart, I can’t. You’re hurt. I don’t want to—”

“Please. I just…please just hold me. I need you.”

“Okay.” Bucky huffed, and a tear ran down his face. “Okay.”

You shifted over in the bed, dull pain momentarily flaring, but you didn’t care. Bucky climbed in on your good side, slipping his arm under the pillow and cradling your head against his chest. He seemed reluctant—scared almost—to even touch you.

You pressed your face against his shirt, breathing him in as you felt a wetness slide into your hair. You were starting to get sleepy, and the last thing you felt before the darkness claimed you again was the feel of his soft lips against your forehead.

***

The third time you woke, you felt like it was for good. The room had resolved itself into a more normal color palette, and the pain, while still there, was manageable.

The ache in your head was eerily reminiscent to the way you felt waking up in the basement, and suddenly, the hospital room resolved itself into something darker. More sinister. The weight of the cuffs was heavy against your wrists again and you could smell him, _feel him_ , hear his voice rasping in your ear and—

_No. Not here. Not now._

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, you took several deep breaths, willing the rapid beeping of the heart monitor to slow. Zipping up that little compartment of horror and throwing a lock on it, because if you stopped to peek inside, you felt like you’d fall down a hole you’d never be able to climb out of.

No. You didn’t want to remember that, you just wanted Bucky.

Bucky.

You opened your eyes and saw him slumped in the chair, fast asleep. Not an easy sleep, you could tell by the slackness in his posture and the shadows across his face that it was more out of exhaustion than a restful sleep.

You were shocked by his appearance. Bucky was wearing a smart looking button down shirt and sweater, but the collar poking out of the top was rumpled and it looked like he’d slept in it. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and several days growth of stubble peppered his chin. Your heart ached to see him that way.

His palm lay open on his leg, and you lightly touched it. Bucky startled, gasping through his nose as he blinked awake. His hand instinctively sought yours and he stared, noticing that not only were you awake, but you were _there_. 

“Hey,” you said, lips twitching into a tired smile.

“Hey,” he breathed. “You’re awake. How’s your pain? I can go get the nurse—”

“No, please,” you grabbed his hand and bringing him to a halt. “Not yet. Please, just stay. Don’t leave me.”

His face fell. “Never. Y/N, I’m never leaving you, I prom—” He bit back the word, clenching his jaw.

Bucky sat, taking your hand in both of his. His expression softened as he looked at you, but his eyes still scoured your face, watching for even the slightest hint of pain.

“How long?” you asked.

“About a week.” His face twisted. “You were pretty out of it, and I wanted to be right here in case you woke up.”

 _In case you were scared and didn’t know where you were._ He didn’t have to say it. It was hazy, but you remembered some of it.

Bucky hesitantly reached up and caressed the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch. You wanted more. You wanted him to hold you, to wrap his arms around you because it was his hands that took away the pain and drove away the darkness.

He didn’t, though. Bucky kept his hand there, and you wondered if he was afraid to touch you. If he was afraid of hurting you more. 

“Bucky, are you okay?”

“Me? Sweetheart, I’m fine. I—” He shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about me. You’re awake now, and I’m right here with you. You’re going to be okay.”

“How bad is it?” You asked, holding up your wrist.

Bucky filled you in, though the conversation was stilted. Both of you danced around the subject of what actually had happened in the basement room, and the lengths he had gone to in finding you. You could tell Bucky wasn’t trying to push, and you were grateful. The lock was still firmly on that box, and you weren’t ready to open it just yet.

“They’ll probably keep you here a few more days, run some tests…”

Bucky kept speaking, but you weren’t listening. Tests…tests…that word was triggering something…something you should remember…

_“Go. Take the rest of the day off, I’ll cover your cases. Take a pregnancy test to make sure, but just rest—I know you aren’t feeling good today.”_

Your eyes went wide.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, what’s wrong—are you in pain? What’s—”

“Bucky, when they ran their tests, did they…am I…”

Your hand crept down over your belly protectively. Bucky had been half on his feet and reaching for the nurse’s call button, but he followed the path of your hand and realized what you were trying to ask.

He nodded.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Eight weeks. How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” you said. “I had been feeling sick the last couple days—morning sickness, I guess—and Wanda was the one who called me out on it. I was going to get a pregnancy test when—”

You cut off sharply, remembering. A shadow fell over your face and your breathing picked up. Bucky tightened his grip on your hand and said your name, grounding you and bringing you back to the present.

“Y/N. Sweetheart, look at me. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

No. No, you weren’t going to go there yet. Lock on box, feelings shelved to be examined later. You didn’t want to look at them. You wanted to be here, you wanted to be happy, because…

“I’m pregnant. We’re…” you huffed a laugh, “A baby. Eight weeks.”

Bucky smiled, and this time it was genuine. It was incandescent. Chasing away the darkness, your heart so full you felt like it would burst.

Your hand reverently pressed against your belly. A protective, maternal gesture.

“Is everything okay…with it? Did they make sure?”

Bucky reached down and interlaced his fingers with yours. “They said everything was just fine. You…and our baby…are going to be just fine.”

He spoke slowly, as if he were trying out the feel of those words. _Our baby_. Your murmured them back to him, lips tugging up into a slow smile. A secret smile, one that was just for the both of you.

Slowly, softly, as if you were a porcelain doll he was afraid to break, Bucky leaned down and kissed you, murmuring his love and adoration against your lips. You melted, basking in the warmth of his touch.

Finally, you started to tire. Bucky convinced you to let him call for the nurse, and you convinced him to climb into bed and hold you while you waited.

Yes, you were broken, and both of you were far from okay. There was a long road ahead, but right there, right then, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two—no, _three_ —of you nestled together.

Safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Recovery is a messy process, and everyone deals with things differently. Even with the best of intentions, mistakes can still be made. So, no, it’s not going to be perfect. Bucky is definitely blaming himself, Reader is trying to avoid even thinking about it, Jacob has shut down, Winnie is playing referee, and George is still stuck in business mode. This is how I envision they would handle things, based on their characters. As with the last chapter, if I’ve missed warnings, please let me know, and I’m available in the comments or DM’s if you want to discuss this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Rape Recovery/Aftermath, Angst, Denial, Depressive Elements, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Complications/Fear of Losing a Pregnancy, PTSD
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, please heed the warnings. This is a very Bucky-heavy chapter, the next one will have more from the Reader’s POV. A lot of feels and angst in this one.

“Come.”

Jasper Sitwell’s shoes echoed over the polished marble as he entered the office. Clipped and business-like. Just the opposite of Brock, Pierce thought to himself. He could recognize both men by their gait, but now he had been left with just the one.

Pierce hadn’t shed any tears over Brock’s death. Emotions, yes. Emotions had been shed, but no tears. Their relationship hadn’t been like that.

Anger and disappointment. Those were the two biggest emotions Pierce felt. Anger of course at the Barnes family for what they had done, but disappointment at Brock for letting his deviant appetites get the better of him. All he had to do was keep the girl there, to _wait_ until the trap was ready to be sprung, but he just couldn’t leave it alone.

And now, Brock was most likely fish food at the bottom of the Hudson. The future, his legacy, all Pierce’s carefully laid plans, all flushed down the drain. Brock might have been a bastard son, but he was blood, and in this business, that was all that mattered. Pierce would choose another to succeed him, but it wouldn’t stick. As soon as he was gone it would be challenged, and in the end, what was the point of it all if a man didn’t have a legacy to leave behind?

Jasper Sitwell was _not_ that legacy. He was a yes man. An answers man, and currently, a man who found himself temporarily promoted to Pierce’s second-in-command.

“What do you have for me?” Pierce asked.

Polished and pressed as always, he stood at the window, looking out towards the Brooklyn Bridge. His grief, whatever it was, would never be shown to anyone but himself.

“I have men posted at the Tower, but security there is tight. They aren’t letting any outsiders in, not even for deliveries. Barnes and his wife never leave, and the only people allowed in are immediate family and the two doctors.”

“What about the cops? Did Barnes’ little display last week draw any attention?”

“Not yet. George Barnes must’ve paid them off, because the two detectives assigned to the case left the hospital without questioning anyone. Barnes got rid of all the bodies, there was nothing left when the cops showed. He’s very thorough.”

“He always was,” Pierce agreed. “And surveillance here?”

“We’ve noticed a few, but they change so often it’s hard to tell.” Sitwell winced. “Security’s tight, though. No one’s getting in here. It’s safe.”

Pierce pursed his lips, considering. Safety. He didn’t need safety, he needed to be able to operate. To move. And right now he was locked down in this standoff with Barnes, effectively cutting him off at the knees.

Slowly, he paced the length of the room. Pierce was a chess man, always thinking several moves ahead and analyzing all possible outcomes. He wasn’t about to charge in there with guns blazing like George’s hothead of a son, James, and he wasn’t about to let his emotions govern him like Brock. It had been their biggest downfall, and Piece liked to control where the pieces landed at the end of the game.

He needed a way to get the son out of that Tower.

Suddenly it came to him, an answer so simple he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. Pierce turned back towards the window, the plan already starting to take shape in his mind.

“Get Captain Wilcox on the phone. Discreetly, of course.”

Sitwell raised his eyebrows. “The Long Island police chief? Will he know what it’s about?”

Pierce smiled thinly. “I believe he will. We helped him with a little matter last year, just before he was elected. He owes us a favor—it’s time for him to return it.”

***

It was still early morning when Bucky woke and found the other side of the bed already vacated and cold.

Again.

Bucky rolled on his back and scrubbed his face in frustration. This had been going on for three weeks now, ever since they’d gotten home from the hospital, and to be honest, he was starting to get really worried about her.

They’d kept Y/N admitted for another week after she’d woken up for good. Most of it was just routine monitoring after severe head trauma, but Bucky suspected another reason was to force Y/N to rest.

She’d tried to get up out of bed almost immediately, seemingly embarrassed about the amount of attention and the concern from those around her. _I’m fine, I’m fine_ —it seemed every other word out of her mouth was some sort of reassurance, and nearly every one of them was a lie.

It had taken almost a week before she could even open her right eye. Another week before her damaged vocal cords had healed enough to allow her to speak normally. Her arm was still in a cast and he could tell by the way she moved that she was in pain, but every time he tried to ask about it, she just shrugged him off.

Bucky knew she feared her own vulnerability more than anything. She hated a fuss being made over her, but it had gotten to the point that it was starting to scare him.

The cuts and bruises were beginning to fade, although it still made him physically sick to look at the damage that had been done. Nothing he did ever felt like it was enough, and seeing her in even the slightest bit of pain made him want to carve out his own heart.

Yes, her body was healing, but mentally…Bucky had no idea what was going on in her head. She still hadn’t talked about what had happened. Not to him, and not to Dr. Potts. The therapist had visited while she was still in the hospital, a tentative meeting where they felt one another out, but it hadn’t progressed much farther than that.

They’d made a few appointments with Dr. Potts since then, but Y/N had always found excuses not to keep them. Which was really saying something, because with Pierce in the wind the two of them were confined to the Penthouse for their own safety.

Bucky continued to butt heads with his father over Y/N’s abduction and the dust-up in Long Island, but the one thing that both men unanimously agreed upon was the need for Bucky and Y/N to lay low. Pierce would be out for blood, and the fact that he hadn’t made a move yet was troubling.

Anger still burned in his heart over what had been done to her. Bucky would go after Pierce himself, just to put an end to it all, if he wasn’t so worried about leaving Y/N right now. Not when she was like this.

Instead, Bucky learned to recognize her tells. When she was stressed, when she was getting lost in her own head. When she was in pain and trying to tough it out instead of telling him. He felt like he was walking a tightrope with her, and one wrong step, one push at the wrong time, and it would send them both plunging down into the depths.

It was a strange kind of hell.

Bucky stretched and shuffled into the kitchen, already sure what he would find—Y/N at the kitchen island, case files spread out in front of her and her laptop powered up.

Working. At six in the morning.

“Hey,” he murmured, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky rested his chin on her shoulder and said nothing. He knew she was having nightmares almost nightly. She’d wake screaming or shaking, and she had nearly blackened his eye a couple times when he’d tried to calm her. The way she would utterly recoil from his touch, the way she looked at him with a mixture of fear and revulsion…it was enough to break his heart. In those moments, he knew she was right back in that awful room, fighting a long-dead attacker who continued to find her night after night where Bucky was helpless to protect her.

Not that he had done a damn thing to protect her from it in the first place.

He gently rubbed her back, and she leaned into his touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She smiled up at him, but even in the dim light he could see it was strained. “It’s nothing, really. My wrist hurt a little and I couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d come out and get some work done before Wanda and Pietro come over this afternoon.”

Her friends. Bucky hated that she’d had to lie to them once again, explaining the bruising and the cast away as the result of a car accident. His gaze dropped to her left arm. He hadn’t seen the damage yet—it had been wrapped in a bedsheet when he found her, but he could only imagine how much it was hurting her.

“When’s the last time you took your medication?”

“You know I don’t like taking the pain pills, they make me loopy. I know Dr. Cho says they’re safe to take with the baby, but I still don’t want to take that chance.”

_Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn._

Bucky idly traced down her arm, carefully watching her expression. “You know, Dr. Potts called again and left a message. She seems really nice…it might help to sit down with her, you know…maybe talk about things.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need some stranger telling me what I should and shouldn’t be feeling and that it’s okay to cry. I’m fine, Bucky—really.”

And so it went. Day after day. The same conversations, and the same answers.

Bucky didn’t dare push her any harder than he already did. As it was, he felt like he was constantly nagging her. Smothering her. Right now he was the only one she would actually open up too, as infinitesimal as that was, and he felt like if he pushed her too hard he’d push her right over the edge.

He supposed he should be grateful that she was even okay with him touching her. Bucky had been so afraid that his touch would trigger her, especially after those first couple nightmares that had left her confused and disoriented.

That wasn’t the case, though. Y/N had latched onto him instead, and he wondered if it was a subconscious way of seeking physical comfort when she mentally couldn’t handle confronting her trauma yet.

“You hungry? I can make you something.”

She hesitated, and he decided to push. “You need to eat, sweetheart. Dr. Cho said you’re not eating enough, and you need to keep up your strength for the baby.”

The baby. That was his one trump card over every argument she gave. Without it, Bucky feared she’d shut down completely or work herself into exhaustion, running away from the horror she’d survived. He hated manipulating her like that, but he knew Y/N would do anything to ensure their baby’s health and safety, even if it meant giving in and letting someone help her for once.

“Okay, maybe just some eggs and oatmeal.”

“And some fruit?”

“Okay.”

“Comin’ right up.” He kissed her temple and moved into the kitchen, stifling a yawn.

He was still reeling about the fact that he was going to be a father. It had been so unexpected and to find out the way that he had…Bucky supposed that he was using the baby as an escape, something positive and wonderful to hold on to when everything else was just so uncertain.

“When’s your next appointment?” he asked. “You got one comin’ up, right?”

He already knew, of course, but it was a way to draw her into the conversation and out of her own head. If he couldn’t get her to talk about it, at least he could help distract her from it.

“Friday,” she said, smiling. “I’m excited. Winnie’s going to stop by afterwards with some of your old baby things.”

“Aww, Ma,” Bucky groaned. “We don’t even know if it’s gonna be a boy or a girl yet. And nobody wants my crusty old baby onesies from the eighties.”

She laughed. Bucky wished he could bottle that sound.

“I do, I think it’s cute that she saved them. I bet you were an adorable baby.”

“…a fat baby,” he muttered.

“All babies are fat at first.” She stood, wiggling under his arm as he started the coffee maker. “Humor me.”

“I’ll always humor you, sweetheart. Anything you want—even if it is ratty old second-hand baby clothes.”

He slid his hand over the slight curve of her belly, marveling at the wonderful secret growing just under his palm. Y/N leaned her forehead against his, and he softly kissed her lips. Slow, sweet, and careful, neither pushing nor demanding. The kiss bordered on chaste, but he still tried to show in that one simple touch how loved and cherished she was.

“I love you, Y/N. I would do anything for you—you know that, right?”

She gave him a funny look. “Of course I do. I love you too.”

_Then why won’t you let me help you? I can’t reach you wherever you’ve gone, and I’m scared._

Bucky cradled her face, brushing his thumb lightly across the faint bruising that was still visible across her face. Trying to swallow back the anger and guilt he still carried, trying not to let it show. Y/N was already carrying a heavy load, and she surely did not need _that_ heaped upon her shoulders as well.

His look must have gotten too intense, because her smile wavered. With a squeeze of his hand she pulled away, settling herself back behind her stack of case files. Bucky sighed, and turned back to the stove.

Another day had begun.

***

“Oh, my god, this was one of my absolute favorites! Just look at those little footies. And the little tugboat sewn on the rear,” Winnie laughed as she picked up the tiny onesie. “James used to sleep all tucked up with his little bum in the air, it was adorable.”

Y/N was smiling. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“I’ll have to bring the photo album the next time I come, then…we can embarrass James a little, it’s good for him.”

Winnie watched the younger woman as she folded the baby clothes, occasionally cooing and sighing over the tiny outfits. She looked tired. It was good to see her smiling and laughing again, but she worried that it was all just a thin mask over the underlying darkness that lay just below the surface.

Winnie was no fool. She didn’t need it spelled out for her to recognize avoidance and denial when she saw it. Y/N may have gotten her compassion and gentle nature from her mother, but she’d inherited quite the stubborn streak from her father, right along with a refusal to show weakness and vulnerability.

And look where that had gotten Jacob. For all the progress the two had made, he could barely even look at his daughter now. Consumed with guilt for dragging Y/N back into this life, and now she’d nearly shared his wife’s fate.

It was a father’s worst nightmare.

Jacob was there now at the apartment, barricaded in the office along with James, George, and a handful of lieutenants. History had seen fit to repeat itself, and once again they were in an all-out war with the Manhattan syndicate.

Winnie loved Y/N like she was her own. Although she recognized her own anger over what had been done to the girl, it was nothing compared to James’.

When it had all gone down, Winnie had seen the blind rage in her son. So like his father. It was almost like he became a different person at times, a dark angel of death hell-bent on exacting revenge. James would burn down the world for Y/N and perish in the flames if it meant keeping her safe, and that alone was enough to scare her.

She hated this for him, all the violence and death. Her sweet boy. James was good at what he did and he would be a powerful leader someday, but she wondered whether he had the stomach for it anymore. Especially with a baby on the way.

_“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Ma. I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”_

She was going to have to prepare George for that possibility, because as upset as he was about James going rogue after Y/N’s abduction, he would go nuclear if James suddenly announced that he wanted out.

“You okay, Winnie?”

Winnie blinked and smiled. She hadn’t even realized she’d been just standing there, staring off into space. “I’m fine dear, just lost in thought. How are you feeling these days?”

She pointedly looked at the cast on Y/N’s arm, giving the question a dual meaning, but the younger woman pretended not to notice.

“Not too bad, the morning sickness let up, so that’s good. My clothes are starting to get a bit tight, but Wanda helped me pick out some really cute maternity clothes and they’re super comfy.”

“Yes, maternity clothes have certainly come a long way since I had James.”

They continued to talk as they sorted through the items on the bed, the conversation carefully restricted to babies and pregnancy. Eventually, Y/N excused herself to use the bathroom and Winnie finished up alone.

A knock on the doorframe, and she turned to see James standing there.

“Hey, Ma.”

“You boys finished up?”

He shrugged. “They’re just hashing out details now. I’ve been benched, so I figured I’d see if you ladies needed a hand.”

“Benched…was that your idea, or your father’s?”

“Mine. Steve’s taking the lead on this one, I can’t leave Y/N right now. Dad understands. He’s not happy about it, but he understands.” James picked up a scuffed pair of baby shoes and made a face. “I can’t believe you kept all this stuff.”

“You’ll be surprised about the things you end up keeping, too. They don’t stay that little forever.”

James grunted, and she looked at him. Remembering the tiny babe he once was, cradled safely in his arms. Looking at him now, and the fine, strong man he’d grown into. A _good_ man.

“How are things…between you two?”

James was silent for a long time. A muscle was ticking in his jaw, a sure tell that he was worked up over something.

“Between us? Good, as long as I don’t ask how she’s feeling or why she barely eats or what’s keeping her up at night.” He sighed and sat heavily on the bed. “And it’s not like I don’t know. It’s not like I don’t know that bastard is haunting her day in and day out, that she’s in _pain_. She just…she won’t talk about it. Not to me, not to anyone.”

He looked up at her, and she was startled to see he was on the verge of tears. “I can’t help her, Mom. This is all my fault. She won’t _let me_ help her, and it is ripping me apart.”

Winnie sat on the bed and took both his hands in hers. “First of all, none of this is your fault. You choosing to love her had nothing to do with it, Y/N’s been in this life since the day she was born. What were you supposed to do—lock her away in that Tower for the rest of her life, just to keep her safe?” Winnie shook her head. “She never would have allowed it.”

“I know. We talked about it, the risks that were involved, and I thought I had everything covered—”

“But you didn’t. You _couldn’t_. This was beyond your control, and as horrible as it was, it happened.” Winnie shook her head. “I understand your guilt, James, but it’s not helping anyone, and honestly, it’s not about you.”

Bucky straightened. “I’m not—I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t. I know you’re hurting too. But Y/N needs you now. She needs _help_ , even if she won’t admit it. And dwelling on what could have been prevented isn’t doing anyone any favors right now—just look at Jacob. He lost his wife and he nearly lost his daughter, and he is consumed with regret. He’s a shell of the man he used to be. Do you want to end up like him? Do you think you’ll be able to help Y/N then?”

“No.”

“No, you won’t,” Winnie agreed. She sighed. “You can’t force someone to accept help. All you can do is provide a safe place for them to land, and be ready for when the finally ask for it.”

Bucky nodded and leaned against her. For a long time they just sat there, mother and son, and Winnie found herself swallowing back tears.

A throat cleared in the doorway, and they both looked up. George was standing there, looking very uncomfortable, and Winnie didn’t miss how Bucky quickly pulled away, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“We’re done, I’ve called for the car.”

“I’m gonna go find Y/N.” James’ jaw was set and his shoulders squared as he brushed past his father, and Winnie closed her eyes wearily.

“How…how is she?” George was fidgeting with the buttons on his suit.

Winnie glared icily at him. “She’s struggling, and so is your son. You’d do well to remember it.”

George’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

***

You gasped awake. Heart pounding and shirt sticking to your sweat-covered body, you instinctively ran your hand over the round firmness of your belly, a grounding mechanism as you struggled to come back to yourself. Clutching at the sheets. Slowing your breathing. Reminding yourself that you were safe in your bedroom, and not back in that basement.

You could feel Brock’s hands on you. Smell him on you, even. You knew it wasn’t true, and all it did was make you even more angry. Even in death he haunted you, and you couldn’t understand why you just couldn’t get over it.

It was over. It was done. Nothing had even _happened_ —you’d gotten out in time. Bucky had come for you, he saved you before Brock could…

You shook your head. It could have been so much worse. So many people had suffered worse. _Your own mother_ had suffered worse, and here you were, freaking out over nothing.

It had been weeks since you’d been released from the hospital. Nearly two months since the attack. Your ribs had healed, and the cuts and bruises had all faded. The only evidence left now was the cast on your left arm, a daily reminder of what had happened.

If it wasn’t for that, maybe you could just forget it ever happened. Maybe then the nightmares would stop.

That was a lie, though, and deep down you knew it. The pain never stopped. Both real and perceived, you felt it, flaring across your skin and pounding in your head. Dull, sickening pain flaring between your legs, even now as you lay in bed. Still there, even though you’d been told the damage had all but healed.

You took a deep, steadying breath, and looked over at the man sleeping next to you. And thankfully, he _was_ still sleeping. Neither of you had been getting much sleep lately—you had been plagued constantly by nightmares, and as a result, Bucky only slept in fits and starts, checking on you every few hours and remaining alert in case you needed him.

You hated it. You hated that you were doing that to him. Right now the fact that he hadn’t woken was more a sign of his level of exhaustion than anything else, and it killed you to see how much worry and guilt he was carrying.

You watched him. Even in sleep, Bucky was unconsciously turned towards you, laying on his side with his arms loose and open in case you needed him. Even in sleep he looked worried, a little crease between his brows and his lips tugged into a frown.

Slowly, so he wouldn’t wake, you snuggled into his arms, sighing in relief as they tightened around you and you felt his face nuzzle the back of your neck.

You hated this. Constantly feeling on edge, hypersensitive to every noise, every movement. Weak. Even here in your own home, you still didn’t quite feel safe anymore. Not unless you were in Bucky’s arms or distracted by the baby or work.

You had family, you had friends, and above all—most _importantly_ of all—you had Bucky. Still, you had never felt so alone in your entire life.

You lay there for a while, just listening to Bucky’s deep, slow, breaths and trying to focus on the steady cadence of his heartbeat. Trying desperately to shut your brain off, even if only for a little while.

Just so you could get some sleep.

“Y/N?”

A soft and hesitant voice in your ear. The tender brush of his fingers down your shoulder, each touch filled with so much love and affection it nearly broke your heart, and you closed your eyes against the tears that threatened.

Bucky knew better than to ask if you were okay. If you wanted to talk about it. You’d been shutting him out for so long and you hated yourself for it, but you were so afraid to open that box of horrors and let him see what a complete mess you were. How completely and utterly broken. To relive it voluntarily, to show him the degradations that had been done to you, and just how thoroughly tainted you were now.

“I’m okay,” you lied. “I think I’m gonna get up and read for a bit.”

“Please stay. I’m worried you’re not getting enough sleep. Just lay here for a bit with me, maybe you’ll start to feel tired.”

You could feel something within you starting to crack. You needed to get out of that bed and away from him before you became a bawling mess, because once you did start, you were afraid you would never stop.

You started to sit up, more of a roll now that your belly was getting bigger. “No, it’s fine. I’ll stretch out on the couch, I promise, I just—”

A sharp, twisting cramp, and you couldn’t stifle the gasp that followed.

Bucky instantly froze. “Y/N?”

“I’m okay,” you said shakily. “I just sat up wrong.”

Yet it felt like more than that, and your hand flew to your belly when the cramp flared again.

Bucky saw it. “No, you’re not okay. I’m calling Dr. Cho.”

His eyes were wide and scared, but his hands were steady as he helped ease you back onto your side, tucking a pillow between your knees and another under your head. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart, just breathe. She’s on her way.”

This time, there was no stopping the traitorous tears that slipped by. Bucky held you and whispered encouragement, the only thing holding you together when it felt like you were falling apart.

***

Bucky sat outside the master suite while Dr. Cho examined Y/N, and he tried to pretend that his world wasn’t crashing down around him. He felt like he was back in that awful waiting room.

_I should’ve done more. Maybe I pushed her too hard. Maybe I didn’t push her enough. She’s working too hard, burying everything down and I just let this happen. This is my fault. All my fault._

“James?”

His head shot up. Dr. Cho was standing just outside the door, and he hadn’t even heard it open.

“How is she?”

“She’s resting, which is exactly what she needs right now. She had some cramping and light spotting—”

“Spotting?”

“Bleeding. Very light.”

Bucky paled. There suddenly didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.

“It happens occasionally during the second trimester.” Helen’s voice was soft and reassuring. “I brought a portable ultrasound with me and verified everything, but the baby looks just fine. He or she is even starting to move, which is a great sign this early.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped in relief. “You said this happens sometimes? That it’s normal?”

She hesitated. “Not exactly normal, but it’s not uncommon. I’ll continue to monitor her and we’ll push her appointments up to every two weeks, but the baby looks to be doing just fine. It’s Y/N I’m worried about.”

Helen sat next to him, and just that gesture alone spoke of the seriousness of the issue. “Dr. Potts tells me Y/N hasn’t been keeping her appointments.”

Bucky sighed. “I tried. I’ve _tried_ to get her to talk to Dr. Potts, but she won’t talk to anyone about it. Not even me. It’s like she’s trying to pretend it didn’t even happen.”

“Avoidance and denial is a common response to trauma,” Helen said gently, “and, given her personality, I’m not surprised.”

“She’s afraid of her own weakness. I know she’s struggling, I just don’t know what to do or how to help her.”

Helen nodded. “I understand you not wanting to push her, but right now, this is jeopardizing the health of both Y/N and the baby. Her blood pressure borderline, and she’s under an incredible amount of stress. Things need to change if we’re going to continue with a healthy pregnancy.”

God, he knew it. He _knew_ she was doing this, holding it all in, and he had just let her.

“I’m not putting her on bed rest yet, but I will if this continues. I’ve told her everything I’m going to tell you, and although she wasn’t happy about it, I think she’s finally listening.”

“Talking about the baby has been the only way I’ve been able to get through to her.”

“It’s good you both have that to focus on,” she said. “Use that. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m seeing signs of Post-Traumatic Stress here. That, combined with the already high amount of stress you’re both under…she’s buckling under the weight. I hate to beat a dead horse, but she really needs to talk to someone about what happened to her.”

“I know.”

Helen stood. “She’s resting now, and I told her I’d like to see her off her feet for the rest of the day. No working, no case files. I’m going to come by tomorrow to check on her, but I’d also like to bring Dr. Potts with me if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Her face softened. “In the meantime, try talking to her again. She lets you in, more than you think. This scared her, and I think she’s finally starting to understand that she can’t just bury what happened.”

Y/N was sitting up in bed when he entered, staring out the window. Eyes dead and empty, clutching a pillow to her chest as she chewed relentlessly on her bottom lip, the skin starting to tear.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay.” It was barely whispered, and not very convincing.

Bucky crawled into bed with her. He kept his movements slow, telegraphing his intentions, but when he put his arms around her she positively melted into his side, holding onto him like he was the last thing tethering her to reality.

She was shaking.

“Shhh…it’s okay. Just let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

It started slowly at first. A little hiccup, a small hint of wetness on the collar of his shirt. All the anger and pain and fear she’d held back, swelling up and cresting like a mammoth tidal wave, building in momentum and velocity until she finally let go, and it swept them both over the edge.

Huge, wracking sobs that threatened to shake her apart. Each one heavier than the last, until they gathered into a heart-wrenching scream that was muffled against his shoulder, but it still cut like a knife to the heart. Bucky clenched his jaw and held her tightly, terrified at the strength of the demons she’d kept hidden for so long.

_You did this to her. You chose to love her and bring her into this darkness, and now you’ve nearly lost her to it. You don’t deserve her._

A sob of his own escaped his lips, and he moaned as he gripped her tighter. Shutting out that voice in his head. Bucky hated himself for how much he’d failed her, but he would never— _could_ _never_ let her go. He loved her too much.

Gradually, she quieted, breathing heavily. His hold never loosening, Bucky slid them down between the sheets as he wiped at his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

In the wake of their release, the air felt lighter somehow. Y/N blinked tiredly, bloodshot eyes rimmed red. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky petted her hair, smoothing away the last few residual tears. “It’s okay. You’re so strong and you’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know.” He held her gaze, silently pleading with her. “But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know.” Her lips trembled. “I need to talk about it. What happened. I don’t want to, but I think I need to.”

Bucky gently rested his forehead against hers. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

She smiled. It was faint, barely even there, but it was filled with so much warmth and love that it nearly broke his heart, and Bucky found himself falling in love with her all over again.

Her eyes were growing heavy, and she snuggled against his chest. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, sweetheart. Go ahead and sleep, you need it. I’m right here with you. I won’t let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I will tell you right now to stop any worries, she is not going to lose the baby. Nothing bad will happen to the baby. This is how I saw her character responding to the trauma, and the complications were a wake-up call for both her and Bucky. This is not a perfect romance, and they are not perfect characters, mistakes are made but they are learned from. And don’t worry, although they will have their talk and there will be healing, there is still some action and plot left to come. I may end up adding a couple chapters (I know...I know...) because it’s taking more words than I realized to explore this story and these character’s struggles. As always, feel free to rant at me (nicely) in the comments, and thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Rape Recovery/Aftermath, Discussion of Sexual Assult, Dissociation, Elements of Pregnancy, Smut, and Fluff
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Outside on the terrace, the air was cold but the sun warm. You could feel it seeping into your pores, warming you from the inside in a way you hadn’t felt since before you were taken. Behind closed eyelids the world was a soft technicolor of reds, pinks, and golds, and you sighed, drawing it in as a shield before you dove back down into the harsher depths of reality.

The patio door slid open behind you.

“Hey—aren’t you cold?”

Eyes still closed, you tilted your face up towards the sun. “Not really. The sun feels good. It’s going to start snowing soon, it’s probably one of the last days we’ll get to sit out here.”

Bucky clicked his tongue and draped the blanket over you anyway, tucking the edges under your legs before sitting down. You leaned into him as he wrapped his arm around you, one large, warm hand laid protectively over your belly.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” you said truthfully. Yesterday’s scare had been a wake-up call, and you were done trying to hide your pain from him. “I still feel pretty tired, but I’m up for talking a bit.”

Bucky swallowed visibly and fiddled with the corner of the blanket. “How’d it go with Dr. Potts? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he added quickly.

You knew he’d heard you crying behind the closed door while you had your first session, and he was worried. It was written on his face, as it had been ever since he rescued you from that basement. You’d give anything to erase that worry, and to ease the heavy, heavy burden of guilt you knew he carried. Talking to Dr. Potts had been that first step—a scary but necessary first step towards recovery.

But as it turned out, talking about what had happened with a complete stranger was easier than you had expected it to be. It had been messy. It had been ugly, but in the wake of all that release you felt just a little bit lighter.

Dr. Potts—Pepper, she insisted on being called—hadn’t said much at all. Verbally, at least. But she had _listened_. Waiting patiently as you took your time. As you spoke, the feeling was something akin to drawing poison from your soul, the words tumbling out in an incoherent, jumbled mess.

She had begun to help you sort through that mess. It was uncomfortable, at first, to be sitting on the other side of that table—to be the one unburdening yourself to someone else rather than the other way round. But it also felt strangely like relief, letting someone else help share the weight of your trauma.

It was time to let Bucky help you share that weight as well.

“I know I don’t have to talk about it Bucky, but I want to,” you said, interlacing your fingers with his. “We agreed—no more secrets between us. No more lies. I don’t want this thing to sit heavy between us, something we have to keep dancing around. Pierce and Rumlow have hurt us enough. They don’t get to keep hurting us now.”

Just saying his name sent a thrill of fear and revulsion down your spine. Bucky felt you stiffen, and he held you a little tighter, his lips rubbing against your temple soothingly. Deep within your belly you felt a little flutter, almost sensed rather than felt, and you smiled softly.

“They movin’ around in there?” Bucky asked with a little smile of his own. His hand pressed a little firmer against your belly, and you knew he was wishing he could feel it too.

You nodded. “More and more every day, it seems. They’re strong.”

“Just like their mama.”

He said it softly, but that didn’t lessen the intensity of his words or the meaning behind them. The way he was looking at you—just when you didn’t think you could love him any more than you already did, he had to go and look at you like that, like you were his entire world. His beginning and his end. His angel.

“You remember that night in Romania, the last night we were there?” you asked. “The night you first told me you loved me?”

Bucky’s eyes never waivered from yours. “I remember all of it.”

“I said that you couldn’t possibly love me. That you didn’t know anything about me.” You smiled faintly, remembering. “But even then, you knew me better than I knew myself. You said that I was a strong woman, but the thing I feared more than anything was my own vulnerability.”

You laughed bitterly. “You were right. But I didn’t want to hear it then, and up until now, I didn’t want to believe it. I learned from a very young age to wear that armor and never let them see how much it hurt, but that fear was always there. And there, in that room…with him…I _was_ afraid. I was helpless. More vulnerable than I’d ever been in my entire life, and that’s what terrified me the most. It broke me.”

Bucky made a little sound in the back of his throat, but you pushed on. There was no stopping it now.

“Then, after…I was afraid to show you how broken I was. How much it affected me. How much I was hurting. I didn’t want you to see how vulnerable I am now.” You shook your head. “When I think back to that room, I feel terror, but I also feel my weakness. My shame. I feel dirty— _tainted_ —and I didn’t want you to see that. I thought that if I could just lock it all away, then it would lessen over time. But all I was doing was hurting us both.”

He shook his head. “You were dealing with it the only way you knew how. Nobody can predict how they handle this kind of thing. I saw what you were doing—I knew it, but I didn’t do a thing to stop it. I should’ve pushed more.”

“Since when have you ever been able to make me do anything I didn’t want to do?” You smiled at him, but it held little humor.

“Fair point.”

Bucky’s hand lay open in your lap, and you traced the lifeline on his palm with your good hand. For the longest time you didn’t say anything, turning his hand over and memorizing every scar, every callus. The same hands that brought you warmth and love were also the hands that had taken your attacker apart, and although those scars were long since healed, the ghost of them remained for you both.

You started talking. Haltingly at first, each word physically costing you effort to bring forth. Down into that pit once again, except this time you were dragging him with you. Letting him see.

Bucky didn’t say a word, but then again, he didn’t have to. You tried not to pay attention to his reactions, but you felt him stiffen, heard his breathing accelerate into harsh, deep breaths as he struggled not to lose it. His hand was wrapped around yours in a grip so firm it would have hurt if it hadn’t been for the underlying gentleness, instead providing an anchor point you could ground yourself to.

And you needed it as you finally came to the meat of the story. What had actually happened in that basement. What Brock had said, what he had done. The degradations and the violations, still just as fresh and angry and raw as ever.

It came in fits and starts, shudders and gasps, and you kept your face resolutely turned away from Bucky. You couldn’t bear to look at him. Not while you sat there and bared your soul to him, showing him just how thoroughly you’d been defiled.

“When he left me alone the second time,” you whispered, “that’s when I broke. He’d already done…enough, and when he came back I knew he’d do more…worse than he’d already done. I-I knew he was going to kill me. He told me that I was bait, and that he’d make you watch before he killed you, t-too.”

You weren’t sure at what point you had started crying, but the tears ran freely now. Bucky pulled you into his arms and you curled into his side. You were shaking.

“I was panicking. Giving up. I-I don’t even know how long I was down there, I just…I was out of my mind…about to pass out…s-so much pain…so s-scared, and I…” you drifted off, lost in your own head.

_…cuffs…the cuffs. I can’t get out…hurts so bad. I’m trapped and exposed and he’s coming back. He’s coming back and he’s going to take from me he’s going to kill me he’s going to kill Bucky and it—_

Two warm hands on either side of your face, gently tilting your head up so you can see him. Two impossibly blue eyes, clouded with grey. Reflecting every tortured, stormy emotion that was threatening to pull you under.

Bucky brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, catching your tears and smoothing them away. “It’s not real, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore. You aren’t in that room anymore. You’re _here_. You’re _safe_. I’ve got you.”

Gradually, your breathing slowed and the world resolved back unto itself. Sharpening as the shadows fell away, and you looked around in a daze before settling back on Bucky. His eyes were red and liquid with misery and a deep smoldering anger, but they were the same eyes that had given you strength when you had none left. The same face, the same voice that had calmed you at the height of your panic.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

You didn’t answer him, looking down at the blanket in confusion. “You were there…with me. In the room. You were there.”

Bucky frowned. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

“I could hear your voice, as clear as if you’d been standing next to me. Calming me. Telling me what to do, how to escape. The handcuffs, the room, how to…how to stop Brock when he came to kill me. You told me what to do. You saved me.”

Bucky choked back a sob, realizing what you were saying. “You saved yourself, Y/N. I…I was almost too late.”

“You weren’t, though. You told me what to do, kept me calm. You killed him, and you got me out.”

In the wake of all that unbottling you felt drained but calmer somehow. “Pepper called it dissociating. She said that in the face of all that trauma I created a safe place in my head, that it was my subconscious telling me what to do.”

You looked at him, trying to convey how important it was that he understood this.

“But it spoke with your voice. I got myself out, but it was _you_ who guided me. _You’re_ my safe place, Bucky. You.”

Bucky’s face crumpled. He hugged you close to him, his body rigid but his shoulders heaving with silent sobs as he brokenly murmured a mixture of apology and love.

And you let him. You let him take your pain and your fears, completely surrendering that last little bit of yourself that you’d unknowingly been holding back. In a way, letting go and letting him carry you felt like a final weight had been lifted, and you could finally breathe again.

The sun dipped below the rooftops as you held each other, hearts raw and flayed open. The sky darkened and the late autumn chill began to set in, but you still refused to move, locked in each other’s embrace and silent save for Bucky’s quiet reassurances.

***

**Two months later**

Dr. Cho maneuvered the ultrasound, and the rapid sound of a fetal heartbeat filled the room.

Bucky smiled and pressed his lips against Y/N’s forehead. Their child. New life. Something that they created together, and it never failed to amaze him. Listening to their baby’s heartbeat, watching them on the monitor, moving and twisting away from the doctor’s prodding.

“There’s the head…and the heart…the curve of the spine right there…” Helen smiled. “They’ve got their hands in front of their face, it looks like they’re sucking their thumb.”

Bucky’s heart swelled as he watched the slow smile illuminate Y/N’s face, memorizing it in a mental picture he could keep forever. She was going to be such a good mother.

Helen made a few measurements. “Okay, so…baby’s right on schedule, looking pretty big at twenty weeks, really healthy.”

An internal sigh of relief. Bucky had been on edge ever since he found out Y/N was pregnant, and especially since the scare a couple months ago.

He laughed to himself. The cold, hard man that refused to let fear rule him. Bucky could still become that man when he needed to, but he was softer now. He had something—two somethings, in fact—to lose now, and the fear of losing them was just as fresh as ever. It was a wonder he didn’t have an ulcer yet.

“So…do you want to know what the gender is?” Helen was suppressing a smile that suggested she already knew.

Y/N looked up at him, asking, but he saw in her eyes that she wanted to know. Bucky answered yes, and both parents waited in breathless anticipation.

“Well…by the looks of things,” Helen said as she highlighted a spot on the monitor, “I’d say congratulations, it’s a boy.”

A son. _A son_.

To be honest, Bucky hadn’t cared whether it was a boy or a girl, and he knew Y/N felt the same way. But now, _knowing_ …it made it all the more real. He was going to be a father.

 _They_ were having a son.

Bucky found himself incapable of speaking, swallowing against the heavy lump in his throat as he looked at his wife, smiling up at him with luminous joy.

“A boy,” she whispered.

“Our son.” Bucky couldn’t suppress a smile as she kissed him, his heart so full it felt like it would burst. The kiss was slow and sweet, with a fiery passionate undertone that hadn’t been there since before she’d been taken. It sent his pulse skyrocketing, and he felt just a little dizzy when they finally parted.

God, how he loved her.

Bucky sat back, watching as she chatted with Helen about what to expect in the next few months. How had his life come to this—this happiness? This satisfaction and this feeling of completeness? He thought back to the day he held her file in her hands and he made that silent vow, and where they were now. After all they’d been through. Hopelessly in love and expecting their first child.

It was enough to take his breath away.

Later that night, Bucky was still watching her as he helped prepare dinner. She was giddy and full of energy, that in-between period Helen had said was distinctive of the second trimester.

Yet Bucky knew it wasn’t just that. The therapy was really _helping_. She was healing, moving on, and especially after today, Bucky finally felt like maybe everything was going to be all right.

For someone who’d been so adverse to it in the beginning, Y/N actually looked forward to her appointments now. The weight of what she’d been trying to carry all by herself was shocking. What she had told him that day on the terrace had crushed him, and it hurt even more knowing that she’d been struggling with it alone.

Yes, she still had nightmares. She still occasionally lapsed into periods of silence and depression, retreating far within herself. But he was there. Her family and her friends were there, and she had a good, solid support system to help pull her out of the pit when the darkness started to overtake her.

And most importantly of all, she was _letting_ them help her.

It was better, now. It still didn’t come easy for her, but it still _came_. She answered his questions truthfully and didn’t hide it when she was hurting anymore. That final bridge had been crossed, that final bit of trust relinquished, and although it wasn’t much, it did help to ease some of the guilt he still carried.

Not the anger, though. That was definitely still there, raw and festering with each day Alexander Pierce continued to draw a breath.

“Earth to Bucky—you okay?”

Bucky silently cursed himself for getting so wrapped up in his own head. Y/N was watching him, her tone light but her face concerned as she looked at the spatula he was holding in a death grip, his knuckles white. He wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“Not really, no,” he sighed. “Just thinking about Pierce again. Steve says they’re gonna move against him soon, and I hate being so far out of the loop. I feel helpless.”

“You wish you were there to take him down.” No judgement there, only a quiet observation. A careful one.

“Yes,” he admitted, “and no…I don’t know.”

He pulled her gently backwards into his chest, encircling her with his arms and resting them against her growing belly. Just underneath the skin, a tiny body moved against his hand, and he smiled.

_This, this right here…this is all that matters._

“My priorities…they’re not what they used to be. I don’t want to be that man anymore. I have everything I need or want, right here,” he said as he nuzzled the back of her neck, “and I refuse to do anything to jeopardize it. I almost lost you once, and I won’t take that chance again.”

“Bucky…it wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky smiled thinly and said nothing.

“You’re angry,” she observed, “and you feel guilty—you still do.”

“I do. I’m sorry, it’s just not something I can let go of. When I think about what he did to you…when I think about what could have happened…I wanna kill him all over again. I want to…”

Bucky swallowed back his anger before it could flare out of control. “The man who did it may be dead, but there is still the man who gave the order. And sometimes I wish I could be there when they kill him. I wish it could be me who pulls that trigger.”

Bucky’s face colored with something suspiciously close to shame. He’d told her a lot of things, but he had never talked so blatantly about the killing someone before, never been so open about wanting to be that man again. The one she had hated and feared when they first met.

“I want to be a good man for you, Y/N. One you deserve. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

Y/N turned and cupped his face in her hands. The cast was gone from her left arm, but he could still feel how it trembled with weakness, and the anger flared again.

“Wanting it doesn’t make you a bad person. I understand your anger—you don’t have to be ashamed of it. You are a _good man_ , James Barnes.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

She pulled back so she could look him dead in the eye. “Then lay down your guilt. None of this is your fault.”

_But it is. It is. Even now, I can’t protect you the way I want to. I can’t end this._

But he didn’t say that. Instead, he brushed his fingers lightly over the scar on her forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered.

***

You sat on the edge of the bed, chewing the end of your thumbnail. It wasn’t precisely a dream that had woken you. More of a feeling—slow suffocation, the cloying stench of blood and fear. The freefall of panic that had set in, so convinced you could actually feel the cold metal of the handcuffs against your flesh.

You rubbed at your left wrist. It was throbbing. Even in the darkness you could see the ugly puckered flesh, the trembling when you tried to make a fist.

“Sweetheart?”

Movement on the bed behind you, and you felt the heat from Bucky’s body as he hovered near. Even now, he was still sometimes afraid you didn’t want to be touched—you knew it was because he thought it might trigger you, but the thought was laughable to you. As if his gentle hands could ever be mistaken for that monster’s.

You leaned into him, and felt his lips brush your hair. “Just a bad night. My wrist was hurting again. It felt like…”

The words died out and you sighed in relief as he took your hand in his, ghosting his fingers over the scars tenderly.

“Does this help?”

You nodded, and he massaged a little deeper, banishing the phantom pain along with the demons. Bringing your hand to his lips, Bucky kissed lightly kissed the scars there, and you felt something stir. You murmured his name as warmth bloomed low, something that had lain dormant until now.

His touch was fire itself, and you were ready to come in out of the cold.

Bucky’s breath hitched as your lips grazed against the soft spot below his ear, trailing down the long muscles of his throat. He stuttered and gasped.

“Y/N. Wh-what are you doing?”

“…please,” you breathed. “I need you. I just need to feel you. Please.”

Hands firmly grasped your shoulders. “Are you sure? Won’t it—I don’t want to hurt you.”

His concern was warranted, and you understood his hesitation. It was something you’d asked yourself as your desire for him had begun to bloom again over the past few weeks. Part of it was the pregnancy hormones, you knew. Helen had warned you of that much.

The other part was the fact that you missed the physical side of your relationship. _You missed him_ , and you hated that the shadow of your abduction still hovered in the wings.

Your shoulders fell, and you crawled into his lap. “I want this. I want to try. I don’t know if it’ll be too much, but if it is, I’ll stop you. I miss you Bucky, I miss _us_.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “I miss you too. God—I miss you so much, I—you’ll tell me? If it’s too much?”

“I promise.”

Bucky nodded his acceptance, hands sliding up your shoulders to cup your face, his breath warm across your skin as he slowly kissed your forehead, your cheeks. The tip of your nose and your chin, and down the line of your jaw before nuzzling his way back up to your lips.

Each touch was feather light against your skin, but you still felt the ghost of each kiss linger on. You were aflame as he worshiped you, banishing every speck of darkness from your soul as he moved down your body, cradling you gently but firmly in his arms. Grounding you and tethering you to reality.

Clothing was slowly and deliberately shed. It was a rediscovering of sorts, and not one to be taken too lightly or too quickly. You had been lost and drifting for so long—too long. But he was there, holding you in his arms and guiding you home.

When you began to move together is was different. A little fumbling and awkward, but with the breathless anticipation of lovers reunited. The way you fit together was different now. Your body changed, both by the scars you carried on your body and the life you carried within it.

There was some pain, the slight creep of dark memories. But there was love and there was familiarity, and you held on to that with every ounce of strength you possessed.

It was love in its purest form. A slow and gentle pace, both out of deference to your fragility and an attempt to regain what had been temporarily lost. It was raw and earnest, a coupling so different from any you’d experienced, but as the heat built up towards a fever pitch you felt it singe the edges of the darkness, burning it away as you surrendered willingly to it.

Strong hands gripped you, and Bucky cried out as he followed you over the edge, his breath coming hard and fast in your ear. His eyes flew open and he breathlessly kissed you, bringing you back down to earth. Surrounding you with his love.

You floated blissfully, and Bucky desperately tilted your face towards him.

“Sweetheart--are you here with me? Are you all right?”

You were wholly consumed with him. His touch, his scent was everywhere, and you boldly kissed him, savoring the taste of him as you smiled against his lips. You were undone, the heavy weight lifted from your shoulders, and temporary as though it might be, when you answered him, you answered truthfully.

“I’m okay, Bucky. I…I think I’m going to be okay. _We’re_ going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mostly Bucky and Reader in this chapter, healing and recovery. Neither are completely free of the trauma, but they’re in a much better place than they were in the previous chapter. Originally, I was going to include the rest of the family in this chapter, but it seemed right just to leave it with the two of them for now. The next chapters are going to start to heat up while we get closer to the end.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Rape Recovery/Aftermath, Discussion of Pregnancy, Smut, Cop Drama, Discussion of a Past Murder, Violence
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, you knew this was coming.

“How does that feel?”

You grit your teeth against the pain and tried to stretch your fingers against the pull of the contraption on your left hand, rubber bands fighting the movement as they closed your hand into a fist.

“G-Good. Okay, I guess.”

Carol held your wrist lightly to stabilize it, feeling the movement of the bones and ligaments.

“It should feel like a slow burn, a stretch. Stop if you feel a sharp pain.”

“Okay.”

Over and over you slowly flexed your hand. Who would have thought that such a simple gesture would leave you in such a state—sweating buckets and panting like you’d just ran a few miles. Finally, she felt like you’d suffered enough, and moved on to wrist rotations with a light hand weight.

“You’re doing great,” she observed, “you’ve already regained a lot of mobility—more than Bruce originally estimated. I can tell you’ve been keeping up on the exercises.”

“Bucky pushes me almost as hard as you do. You should think about hiring him as a side act for your ‘Carol Danvers’ Traveling House of Pain.’”

God, you hated physical therapy. You’d been in pretty good shape before the incident, but somehow Carol pinpointed every single one of your weaknesses and mined them. And after an hour of mobility exercises followed by some light cardio and prenatal yoga, you were a sweaty, trembling mess, limbs like limp noodles.

But the massages from Bucky afterwards always made it worth the pain.

“Carol worked you pretty hard, huh?”

Two strong hands massaged at your shoulder blades and down your back, his touch melting away the tension and feeling positively sinful. A low, obscene moan was the only answer you could give him.

“Christ, doll, you make any more noises like that…” Bucky’s breath fanned across the back of your neck, and he nipped at the soft spot just below your ear.

“Eww—Bucky, I’m all sweaty and gross,” you giggled, a little embarrassed despite how much he was turning you on.

“You,” he said, kissing your throat again, “are maybe a little sweaty, but you are far from gross. You’re gorgeous…breathtaking…stunning…”

Your breath hitched as he continued down, pausing where your neck met your shoulder. A long, lingering kiss there, and he gently turned you to towards him, cradling your face in his hands.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, Y/N. Always. Inside and out, only now…now it’s like you’re glowing. Full of stardust and moonbeams, just bursting out of you, like there’s just too much beauty and strength to contain in a single human body.”

Oh, that man.

Your lips found his, and you gently pulled him back into the bathroom. Looking down at the bathtub he’d already prepared for you, you slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

“Join me?”

As if you’d honestly needed to ask. Bucky was still as submissive and hesitant as he’d been during your recovery, but his racing heart and lust-blown eyes told you exactly what he wanted. What he needed.

Tie, shirt, and trousers fell to the floor in a heap next to your own clothes. As much as you desired him, you still turned slightly to the side, hands trying to shield him from a body you had yet to become comfortable with.

Bucky clucked at you. “No, sweetheart, don’t hide from me. I want to see every inch of you.”

He gently took your hands in his, ever so careful of your injured wrist. Pulling them and you towards his own body.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

Wet, open mouthed kisses, trailing across your shoulder, your collarbone. Pausing at the hollow of your throat, enticing a low moan as he continued down between the valley of your breasts. Worshiping you with every touch, every caress, not shying away from the still-fading scars or the new, softer curves your body had adopted.

You yelped and giggled as he suddenly picked you up, his lips never leaving yours as he cradled you protectively and stepped into the bath. Bucky pulled you back against his chest and you melted bonelessly into him.

“Tilt your head back, sweetheart.”

Bucky cupped a hand over your eyes as he wet your hair, working the shampoo in with just enough pressure to loosen any remaining tension you had, and to elicit another low moan. Never had you even considered that the simple act of washing your hair could be so intimate.

“Te iubesc, fata mea dulce. Ingerul meu.”

Words whispered in your ear, some you were starting to understand. Well, the important ones, at least.

“Te iubesc, James.”

The smile when he heard those words from your lips could light your way through the most devastating darkness, and you captured it and held it in your heart. Where you once forged your own armor, it was now stripped away, again and again by the man before you.

You were finally at peace with it. In its place was a new light, bright and shining. It warmed you and protected you, something you could hold onto when you felt your strength fail. Because Bucky was that light. He was everything.

***

Bucky was standing on the terrace, looking down over the streets of Brooklyn and feeling particularly introspective about the duplicity of it all. The glitz and glamor of the life he led, and what he had done to maintain that hold. The dirt that creeped in around the edges, staining everything.

And they were _both_ stained by it now. Him by the blood he had shed and the violence that surrounded him, and her by the subsequent blowback.

Y/N had been born to the same life as he had, but they had both chosen different paths. While he had embraced the blood and the violence as a necessity, she had plunged both hands into the filth to pull others out of it.

As she had been doing for him, ever since he had met her.

It wasn’t a conscious thought, for either of them. He knew she loved him and accepted his profession, and that’s exactly what it was. Love. She saw past what he was and what he’d done to the true man underneath it all, and loved him anyway. She never tried—never uttered a single word about him getting out—but that thought had been circling around in his head for a long time.

And the thought excited him.

Leaving it all behind. A chance at a normal life. An _honest_ life. A small, tidy little place of their own where they could grow their family away from the dangers that constantly lurked beyond every shadow.

Bucky smiled.

“Now, that’s a smile I haven’t seen since you found out you’d been accepted to Juilliard.”

Bucky chuckled, remembering. That had been a good day, his whole life ahead of him and nothing but sunshine on the horizon—or so he thought. That smile had been hidden for a long time after that day, but it had been peeking out more and more.

But of course Steve wouldn’t know about that. That smile was for Y/N.

“You look good, Buck. You look happy.” Steve handed him a drink and offered up one of his cigarettes, but Bucky shook his head.

“Naw, I’m tryin’ to quit. For the baby,” he said. “And I am—happy. Probably the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“I’m glad. God knows you two deserve it.”

They both drifted off into silence as they watched the girls through the windows. Peggy, Wanda, and Y/N were in the baby’s room, going over color swatches and thumbing through Pinterest boards on their phones.

“Y/N looks happy, too,” Steve said carefully.

“She is. She really is. She—”

The words caught in his throat, and he shook his head. “When I think back to when we were first together, everything she went through and then after…I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe that this is my life now, it seems…too good to be true.” _Like I don’t deserve it._

“It is true, Buck. I’m so happy for you. Although, I gotta tell you, Peggy’s got baby fever now.” He laughed. “She’s been hinting around at wanting to give it a try ever since she found out Y/N was pregnant.”

Bucky laughed, watching as Peggy enthusiastically demonstrated Steve’s claim by holding up a tiny pair of baby shoes and squealing. Steve shook his head, but Bucky could see by the light shining in his friend’s eyes that he wanted it too.

Bucky snorted clapped him on the back. “Couple’a hardened criminals we turned out to be, huh?”

“I guess.” Steve took a sip of his drink and leveled a gaze at him. “So, how’s things goin’ with your Dad? You still on his shit list?”

Bucky sighed. “Yes and no. You know how it is with us. I’m in the doghouse until I prove myself again…show I can tow the line. I know he wants me back in for when you guys go after Pierce, but I can’t leave Y/N right now. I won’t.”

“How’s she doing—with all that?”

“Better. A lot better, all things considered.” Bucky shrugged. “She still gets nightmares—not often, but they still come. Sometimes she gets real quiet and I can tell it’s got its hooks in her again. We’re working through it, though, keeping her stress level down.”

“That’s good, Buck.” Steve wrapped an arm around him. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of Pierce, she’ll have the baby, and everything can just go back to normal. Finally.”

Bucky smiled thinly, a rictus smile that felt like it would break his face. There would be no going back to how it was before, not for him. He knew that now. He was a man walking a tightrope, feeling like every step would send him plummeting over the edge.

He just needed to get to the other side with Y/N and the baby intact.

He knew the plan to go after Pierce was solid—an ambush at the next trade, courtesy of a mutual friend across the bridge in Queens. One Pierce had also wronged. He knew they didn’t need him, not really, but it still didn’t settle his nerves any.

He just couldn’t get rid of the feel that a dark shadow was hovering just over his shoulder, waiting to pounce.

***

They came for him three days later.

If you could think back to your words to Bucky that night, the night you had rediscovered each other and regained what you lost, you would have laughed at your own naiveté. The utter foolishness, to think that either of you were safe, or that everything would just be okay.

It had been easy for you to forget what was waiting for you both. Easy to pretend, in the wake of everything that had happened, that Pierce wasn’t still out there, waiting to exact his revenge.

Bucky, of course, hadn’t forgotten. You’d heard the hushed phone calls from behind the closed door of his office, the meetings while you were conveniently occupied by Winnie or your friends. You’d seen it in the lines of tension that he constantly carried, just at the corners of his eyes. 

He wasn’t hiding anything, and you didn’t take offense at being kept out of the loop. You didn’t ask and he didn’t tell—you both understood the need to keep your stress level at a bare minimum, and it was easy for you to fall back into that protective cocoon of unknowing.

Until it wasn’t.

They came for him on a Wednesday afternoon. Carol had just left for the day, and you were relaxing in the tub with a book while Bucky sat at the piano. You hummed along absently as he played, a small smile on your face. A small little kick from your belly and your smile widened, feeling the baby shift around as he got used to the warmth that surrounded you.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, lost in your book, but when you next looked up, you realized you couldn’t hear Bucky playing anymore.

Instead, muffled voices, sounding tense.

“…warrant to search the place…”

“You run their badges?”

“They’re legit. Nat made ‘em wait while she called the precinct. They weren’t too happy about that…”

Clint. You remembered both he and Nat were on duty today, but they usually stayed outside the apartment, one posted down in the lobby and one in the hallway leading up to the penthouse. Whatever it was, it was big enough to send him in, and you didn’t like what you were hearing.

You toweled off, slipping into the bedroom and dressing quickly. You were just about to leave when Bucky walked in, his face grim. He took one look at you and what you were wearing—clothes a bit more formal than what you would wear for a normal Wednesday afternoon at home—and his shoulders fell.

“How much did you hear?” he asked.

“Enough. Cops are on their way up?”

He nodded. “Two detectives from Long Island, Clint says they have a warrant to search the place.”

Long Island. That solidified the butterflies in your stomach, and they dropped like lead weights. You weren’t a fool—you knew the size of a mess they’d left at Pierce’s house. As good as they were, something must have slipped through the cracks.

A warrant. That meant this wasn’t just a social call, they actually thought they had some evidence. Enough to convince a judge of, at least.

“I don’t like it, Bucky.”

“I don’t either, sweetheart, but they’re here, so we’ll deal with it.”

Bucky ran his hands soothingly up and down your arms. The lines of worry were still etched on his face, but those blue eyes were cold and hardened.

You knew that look. You’d seen it before, in Romania. And where it confused and scared you once, now it grounded you and gave you strength.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. Just let me do most of the talking, okay? We’ve gotta play this thing carefully.”

“I know.”

A knock at the door, and he took your hand, leading you out into the living room.

Clint was already gathered there with the detectives, his face pinched and his anger palatable. Bucky, however, looked like he’d been carved out of ice.

“Detectives Monroe and Channing, Mr. Barnes,” the taller one said. He thrust a paper towards Bucky, offering it up instead of his hand by way of greeting. “We’ve got a warrant to search the place, and we’ll be needing to ask you two some questions.”

You bristled inwardly at his tone—confrontational and itching for a fight. Bucky must have sensed your anger, because he squeezed your hand once in warning as Clint took the paper and looked it over.

“It’s like they say, boss,” he said quietly, eyes narrowed at Monroe.

Bucky nodded. “May I ask what this is about?”

Channing left, headed towards the office with Clint right on his heels. Monroe gestured to the couch, a ploy to maintain control of the situation. “Why don’t we have a seat.”

“Very gracious of you to offer me a seat in my own home,” Bucky said icily. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Monroe narrowed his eyes. “We’re investigating the murder of Brock Rumlow, and your name just keeps coming up. We’ve got several witnesses that saw you in the Long Island area the day he went missing, and several more that saw you checking in to Brooklyn Memorial later that day.”

“Missing? I thought you said he was dead.”

“He is. We found the body.”

Zero reaction from Bucky. You could feel his pulse through your clasped hands, just as slow and steady as if he was discussing financial reports instead of murder.

Monroe continued, undaunted. “Yeah, it looks like someone beat him to death—with their bare hands. So, I’m gonna ask you again, what were you doing in Long Island on August tenth?”

“It sounds a lot like you’re accusing me of something, Detective Monroe, so I won’t be saying anything without my lawyer.”

He shrugged. “Play it your way, Barnes—we can either do this here or down at the station.” The detective eyed you up and down. “But we’ll be needing to talk to both of you.”

Now there was a little flare of anger. “My wife has nothing to do with this.”

“I beg to differ—witnesses place her at the scene as well.”

“She’s not going anywhere, not in her condition. You don’t even have probable cause. No judge would allow that.”

Monroe merely shrugged, and switched tactics. “The detectives at the hospital mentioned there was quite a bit of blood, Mr. Barnes. You were practically covered in it.”

“My wife was bleeding.”

“And why was that?”

“That’s private medical information, and I’m not required to give that to you without a court order. Your warrant doesn’t cover it.”

“We can get one.”

“Then get it.”

The rapid-fire volley was making your head spin, and you were not nearly as controlled in your anger as Bucky. After everything you’d gone through, everything you _both_ had gone through, they were looking to place the murder of your rapist on Bucky’s shoulders and make him pay for it.

“Is there something wrong, Mrs. Barnes? You look upset.”

You clenched your jaw. Bucky could be as coolly collected as he liked, but your anger—and your hormones—were flaring.

“I’m pregnant, I’m tired, and my feet hurt, and there are two cops currently sitting in my living room, grilling my husband,” you snapped. “Exactly how should I look right now?”

Bucky held up his hand just as Clint came back in the room with the other detective. “Look—I already told you I’m not speaking without my lawyer present, and this is borderline harassment. My wife’s health is fragile, and you’re upsetting her.”

“Then you can tell your lawyer to meet us down at the precinct. Let’s go.”

Channing moved to your side and Bucky drew you behind him immediately. For a long moment, everyone seemed to be frozen, the tension sitting heavy in the air and threatening to crush you. You weren’t really sure what was happening—it seemed like there was a second conversation being held by the four men, one you weren’t privy to.

A muscle was ticking in Bucky’s jaw. “You don’t need to talk to my wife, she had nothing to do with it.”

“And how is that?”

A long pause, and Bucky spoke.

“Because I killed him. I killed Brock Rumlow, and nine of his men.”

Your heart stopped. _What is he doing?_

Monroe and Channing looked at each other. “And why should we believe you?”

“If you have Rumlow’s body, you’ll find my skin under his fingernails. He scratched me as I was hitting him. And I can give you the gun that’ll match the bullets in the other nine.”

None of this made sense. Why was he doing this? Even Clint looked shocked, his eyes wide and mouth slack as he watched Bucky release your hand and step towards the detectives.

Again, they looked at each other, seemingly taken off guard by the turn of events. Finally, Monroe reached towards his belt and pulled out his cuffs.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are under arrest for the murder of Brock Rumlow.”

***

Bucky’s arms were pulled firmly behind him, the cuffs locking shut with an ominous click.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N. Everything’s going to be fine.” He stared at Y/N’s bloodless face, trying his hardest to reassure her despite the lie that sat heavily in his mouth.

At some point during the last twenty minutes, it had dawned on Bucky that while Monroe and Channing may be legitimate detectives from Long Island, they were most certainly dirty cops. And if they were trying to get him and Y/N out from under their security, then they most likely had been paid off by Pierce.

It was brilliant, he had to admit. Bribing a judge and a couple of cops to gain entry, forcibly removing them from their own home.

He realized it as soon as the pair insisted on taking them both in. Channing’s hand kept twitching towards his holster, and both men were on edge, even though they had the upper hand. Clint was the only one carrying—Bucky hadn’t carried a weapon in his own home since Y/N’s abduction.

But even if he had, there was no way he would have acted on it. No way he would have gotten in a shootout with two cops and risk Y/N getting hit by a stray bullet.

The tension had built up, thrumming like a live wire. Monroe and Channing were leaving there with somebody, but at least Bucky could make sure Y/N wasn’t going with them.

His stomach plummeted as he realized it.

This was it. This was the moment. His second chance at redemption—a second chance to keep her safe, permanently, because he knew he’d never make it to the precinct. They would take him straight to Pierce.

He could save her from that. Bucky might be walking out that door to his own death, but he’d be walking into the same room as Pierce.

And if Bucky was going down, Pierce was coming with him.

Bucky barely heard their words as the cuffs slid home. False reassurances were uttered, as convincing as he could make them under the circumstances—Bucky always was a good liar.

But underneath, he was taking his last look. Memorizing her features. The way her hair was shining in the afternoon light. The soft curve of her lips and the precise color of her eyes, wide with shock but still full of so much love for him that it took his breath away.

He drank her in, from top of her hair right down to the firm curve of her belly where their son grew, a son he’d never live to see.

And that was okay. He had blood on his hands, he knew, and this was as close to heaven as he would ever get. If is last act on this earth was to keep them both safe, then so be it.

“I-I’ll call your father, James, we’ll get ahold of the lawyer. It’s going to be okay.”

Bucky nodded tightly, not trusting himself to speak further. The detectives started to turn him towards the exit but she surged forward, and he almost lost his composure when her lips crashed into his in a bruising kiss.

“I love you, Y/N,” he choked, his teeth clenched. “No matter what happens, never forget that. I love you both so much.”

“I love you too—”

Monroe grabbed Bucky by the arm and jerked him away from her. The last thing he saw before the detectives dragged him out the door was Y/N standing there, both hands twisting together while Clint hovered at her elbow. Then the door shut, and she was lost to him.

Not a word was said as the detectives muscled him past a stunned Natasha and into the waiting unmarked cruiser. Bucky watched over his shoulder as the Tower grew smaller and smaller, until they turned a corner and it was lost from view.

He noted wryly that they were headed over the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Hate to tell you this, boys, but Long Island is the other way.”

“Shut up.”

Bucky sighed. “I think we can cut the crap now—we all know you’re not taking me in.”

Silence from up front. That was okay, though. Now that it was actually happening, he was calm. Calculating his plan, analyzing his options. He was walking straight into the fire now, and if he was going to pull this off he’d need his wits about him.

They drove on for quite some time, and the sun was dipping below the buildings before the cruiser ducked into an alley and pulled to a stop. Bucky’s door was opened and he was pulled from the back. A black Mercedes was parked further down the alley, partially hidden in the shadows.

He didn’t know the men who stepped out, but this was Manhattan, so he had little doubt as to who they worked for. One circled around behind him, and his suspicions were confirmed when the second one spoke.

“Thanks boys, we’ll be in touch.” He grinned at Bucky. “You’re a tough man to get a hold of, Barnes, but even you ain't untouchable. Pierce has some unfinished business with you.”

“Then let’s go see him.”

The man just smiled unpleasantly. Too late, Bucky heard swift movement behind him. Pain rocketed though his skull as the butt of a gun made contact with his temple, and darkness claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm available to yell at in the comments, just remember as dark as this gets, there will be a happy ending, I promise. And possibly a few extra chapters, this thing is turning into a beast.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Blood/Violence, Criminal Activities, Murder/Death, Pregnancy, Angst, Language.
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of violence in these next two chapters, please heed the warnings.

You stared in disbelief as the door to the Penthouse swung closed. The door through which Bucky had just been led, handcuffed and flanked by two detectives.

The silence was deafening.

You stood there, frozen to the spot, your mind blank and your face numb as you tried to process the events of the past thirty minutes. Dimly, you could hear Clint cursing in the background. He was saying something to you, but you paid him no mind.

_“You don’t need to talk to my wife, she had nothing to do with it.”_

_“…I killed him. I killed Brock Rumlow, and nine of his men.”_

_“James Buchanan Barnes, you are under arrest for the murder of Brock Rumlow.”_

You could still hear his reassurances ringing in your ears, his voice steady and his tone sure, but underneath lurked something desperate and afraid.

_“I love you, Y/N…No matter what happens, never forget that. I love you both so much.”_

Your lips were still tingling from that final, crushing kiss, the one that said more than all of Bucky’s last words did.

Something was very, very wrong, and you had a pretty good idea what.

Clint was guiding you to the sofa as if you were made of porcelain, so badly chipped and cracked that one more nudge would shatter you into a thousand pieces. You let him—you understood his concern—but you felt anything but fragile in that moment.

You felt incensed. You felt alive. You felt _angry_. After everything you and Bucky and gone through, everything you had now, the future that you’d both dreamed about—it was not meant to end like this.

And like hell were you going to allow it to.

Clint was still talking. “Everything’s going to be okay, Mrs. Barnes. I’m getting Cohen on the phone right now, we’re going to take care of this. Don’t you worry—”

“Clint, for fuck’s sake, call me Y/N. And put your phone away, there’s nothing Cohen can do. Bucky doesn’t need a lawyer, he needs his men.”

Clint just stared at you, jaw slack.

You took several deep breaths, calming yourself. “They were dirty cops, Clint. They’re working for Pierce.”

“H-How—”

“Where’d you dispose of the bodies? Rumlow and the others?”

Clint frowned at your directness. “We, uh…we’ve got kindofa deal goin’ with a charter boat Captain. He dumped ‘em, out past the Jersey Bight—too deep to risk a scalloper dredging ‘em up.”

“…and didn’t the detectives say they had Rumlow’s body?” you asked patiently.

The pieces were all starting to click together, almost faster that you could keep up with. Cops from Long Island, where Pierce had a summer home. One would only hazard to guess he had his hooks in the local police department, and probably some of the local boys in Manhattan as well. You knew that was how your father and George operated, why not Pierce?

Clint cursed. “Yeah, they did.”

You leaned forward and grabbed his arm, trying to telegraph your urgency.

“Clint, I know Bucky. I know that look in his eyes, the one he gets when he’s determined to do something, no matter the cost. Those cops were trying to take us both, but Bucky fell on his sword and confessed so they would only take him instead.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “I knew something was going on! The one looked like he was just itching to pull his gun, and they were both sweatin’ bullets ever since they walked through that door. Once Bucky confessed, they had no legal reason to bring you in.”

You nodded, glad you were finally on the same page.

“Clint, get Nat up here. Start making the calls, we need all hands on deck for this one. I don’t know where to even begin looking for him, and we’ve already lost precious time.”

He lurched into action. Clint was a good man, but he was just a bodyguard—he wasn’t used to calling the shots. Snatching your phone from the kitchen counter, he tossed it to you, already calling down to Natasha at the front entrance.

You didn’t even hesitate, pulling up the number. All of your past history, all of your differences—none of them mattered now, not when Bucky’s life was on the line. You pressed the call button, breath stilled as you waited for him to pick up.

_“Y/N? What’s going on?”_

“Dad, I need you. Now.”

***

Smell was the first sense that returned to him. The scent of dirt and machinery oil, along with an earthy stench that could only come from livestock living in close quarters. Blood, both new and old, an acrid sharpness that sat heavily over the more pungent, deeper stink of death and decay.

Slowly, he raised his head.

The room swam for a minute before settling out, and it only took a couple seconds to realize he was in a slaughterhouse. A low drain was set into the floor and hooks hung suspended from a pipe running the length of the room. Bucky supposed he should’ve been grateful they had tied him to a chair instead of hanging him from one of those hooks, but the drain in the floor was a bit disconcerting.

His head throbbed and he shook it off. Drawing himself up and taking stock of his situation.

There was duct tape over his mouth, and his wrists were bound with the same. Other than the ache in his temple, he actually felt pretty good.

_Okay. They didn’t kill me yet, and they didn’t rough me up too bad, so they must need me alive—for now. Duct tape over my mouth, which means they don’t want me screaming or calling out. We must still be in the city, or at least close enough for someone to overhear._

Slowly, he worked at the tape binding his hands. If they’d used zip cuffs or hand cuffs he would’ve been screwed, but duct tape—that he could work with.

Time passed. How much, he wasn’t sure, but he sat there, working at the tape with a coolly determined focus. He was just starting the get enough leverage to rip a small tear, when they entered.

Frick and frack. One tall, one short. Two nameless henchmen who could’ve belonged to anyone, and even they couldn’t see the irony of the situation as they homed in on Bucky.

“Well, well…look who’s awake,” the taller one said.

The shorter one with the mean face circled around the chair. Bucky supposed it was meant to be intimidating, but the man looked a little like Joe Pesci, and he stifled a laugh despite the situation.

“Doesn’t look so tough to me,” the Pesci knock-off said. “Isn’t he supposed to be some big name or somethin’?”

“That’s George Barnes’ son, you clown. He and his pals whacked a fair share ‘o ours a few months back. Took out Rumlow with his bare hands. They say he’s got ice in his veins.”

_Wham!_

Bucky’s head snapped to the side, his vision blurring as a fist connected with his injured temple. Blood began to run freely again, but he continued to stare blankly at his captors.

Joe Pesci knock-off swiped a finger-full of blood off Bucky’s face and laughed. “Nope, looks like regular ol’ blood to me.” He wiped it harshly along Bucky’s cheekbone, laughing again.

And on it went. The two taunted him, throwing hits and delighting in seeing a mob boss brought to his knees. Bucky let them—it wasn’t like he’d never taken a hit before.

He let them, because while the two played their games, he was busy working at his wrists, loosening the tape and picking at the edge, starting a tear that was getting longer by the minute. Bucky was under no illusions that this would be a clean escape, but if the two of them wanted to sit there and flap their gums at him while he tore through their shoddy restraints, then so be it. A few punches in the face was a small price to pay.

“All right, hold up—we ain’t got the picture yet.”

“Make sure you get the sign in there, too.”

The tall one stepped behind him, and Bucky stopped working at the tape. A rough hand snatched him up by the hair, tilting his head up while the other one aimed a camera phone.

 _So that’s it_ , he thought. They weren’t going to outright kill him, they were using him as bait. Pierce really was a one-trick pony. It was still no guarantee, but it had bought him a few more precious minutes—minutes in which to free himself and hunt down Pierce.

“Got it.”

“Good. Send it to the boss—he should be here any minute.”

He hit send, tucking the phone back in his pocket with a grin. “That’s one for the family album there, Barnes—dear old Daddy’s sure gonna love it.”

Bucky let his head sag as the man released him, letting them think he was spent. Both men moved off with a look of disgust, lighting up and paying him no mind as they passed a flask back and forth between them.

Sloppy.

Bucky had already worked out several ways to kill the two men, each more brutal than the last. He watched the blood drip off his chin, landing in his lap as he slowly worked at the tape. Sweat was running freely down both forearms now, helping his cause as the rip widened.

_Almost there. Just a little bit more…_

The door slammed open, and Bucky froze as both henchmen hastily stomped out their cigarettes. Two dress shoes stepped into view, polished to a mirror shine.

“Hello, James.”

***

The Penthouse was a zoo.

True to his word, Clint had called in all the troops— _all_ of them. You could hear them, just outside the door to your bedroom. The angry murmurs, the click of magazines sliding home. The scent of the cigarette smoke and the tension, the anger that was palatable even through the closed door. It was like being transported back in time, sheltered in a far off room with your mother while reality played out just beyond the doorframe.

Inside the bedroom, it was your sanctuary. You sat cross-legged on the bed, a strangely comfortable position given your girth, and looked out over the city. Watching the twinkling lights. They were almost mesmerizing in their consistency, a never ending parade of traffic up Main and Water Street, centering you and drawing your focus away form the frightening questions that threatened to creep in at the edges.

Wondering where Bucky was amongst all those flickering lights. Wondering where he was, because you absolutely refused to believe he was already dead.

Deep breaths. In for four, hold, and out for six, just like Pepper had taught you. Clearing your mind. Allowing the calm—and hopefully the solution—to enter.

Winnie hovered in the wings, anxious but unwavering in her support. You felt a new surge of appreciation for her, bringing you the herbal tea Dr. Cho had recommended and keeping the outside noise to a bare minimum. Speaking calm, soothing words despite her own fears.

“Jacob—come over here.” That was George’s voice, and even through the closed door you could hear the anger there. The room erupted, and Winnie quickly walked to the door, peering out into the hallway. Something was happening.

“Winnie, what is it?”

“They’ve got a location on James.”

“Alive?”

You died a hundred deaths in the eternity it took for her to answer. Eyes closed, taking deep, purposeful breaths, and you felt a pleasant pressure against your belly as your son twisted and stretched lazily.

_Bucky can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. I can’t lose him—_

“He’s alive. George was sent a picture.”

“What?”

“Pierce sent a picture of Bucky to George’s phone.”

Alarm bells were going off in your head. Every fear was banished as you latched onto that one fact—one that felt all too familiar.

Carefully, you stood and brushed past Winnie. The assembled men parted like the Red Sea before you, startled by your presence. An almost hushed reverence fell over the room as you approached the two bosses.

“Let me see it.”

“Y/N, no—you don’t want to see this.” Your father started to protest, but you snatched the phone from his hand.

It was just as Winnie had said. A picture of Bucky. Alive.

He was tied to a chair, duct tape over his mouth, and even with the poor quality of light you could see the blood running down the side of his face. Someone’s hand was fisted in his hair, yanking his head back cruelly to face the camera. Your stomach clenched to see him like that, and you had to tighten your grip on the phone to still the tremble that threatened to betray your fear.

It was his eyes— _his eyes_. They were blazing with anger. The fiery determination of a man resigned to his fate, and an unspoken promise to take as many of his enemies as he could down with him when he fell. They were a promise, one that he intended to keep.

Not a word was said as you looked down at the phone, but you didn’t notice. Your gaze had shifted from Bucky to the faint outline of lettering behind him. You tried zooming in, but you couldn’t make it out.

“It says Malick Processing,” Nat said, turning a laptop around so you could see the screen. The image on the phone had been enhanced to show the faded lettering on the wall behind Bucky. A couple taps of the keyboard, and she had an entire data sheet pulled up. “It’s a meatpacking plant—a slaughterhouse. One that’s now owned by Pierce’s front company, Hydra Industries.”

You blinked in confusion. “I thought slaughterhouses were banned in the city.

“No,” she said tersely. “They tried. It looks like Pierce greased some palms and bought them all out—not surprising, it’s a very lucrative business if you’ve got no scruples about sanitation or animal cruelty.”

“So you know where this building is?”

“Corner of Washington and Twelfth.” She gestured to the men strapping up and checking weaponry. You hadn’t even noticed.

Your head was spinning. It seemed too easy.

“Wait. Something’s not right.”

“Y/N, we’ll handle this,” Jacob said.

“No! It’s too easy!” Your outburst had the whole room halting, and Winnie reached out to you worriedly. You hated to, but you shook her off. “It’s too easy. Nat—how hard was it to render that image to read the sign?”

“Not very.”

“Exactly. Why would they position him in front of a sign like that if they didn’t want you to know exactly where he was? It’s a trap.”

George stood up now, his hands placating. “Y/N, just let us handle this. We’ll—”

“No!” You took a deep breath, centering yourself before you continued. “I was taken as bait—Rumlow told me himself. Pierce never intended to make a deal with you, he just wanted to wipe you all out. He was just scared because you had the numbers, so he lured you into a trap. Why would this be any different? He fed you the location, and you’re walking right into it!”

Your father narrowed his eyes, but you saw he was listening. “She’s right, George. It doesn’t make sense. Pierce has been one step ahead of us this whole time, why would he slip up now?”

“It fits the pattern,” you added.

George chewed his lip, his gaze intense, but you held your ground. You knew you were right—you knew it—but you needed him to know it too. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay, Y/N…okay.” He looked over at Jacob. “You still got Stark’s number?”

Jacob was already dialing. “It’s a few weeks earlier than we planned, but he owes us big and I’m sure he’d love to erase his debt.”

“Tell ‘im to bring everything he’s got—we’re gonna light these fuckers up.”

Your blood ran cold. “What about James? He’s still inside.”

Steve came up beside you and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll get him out, Y/N. Nat’s pulled up the old blueprints from the county surveyor’s office—she and I are gonna go in through the roof access while Pierce’s attention is being drawn away.”

“You’ve done this kind of thing before, right?” you asked her.

Nat gave you a cryptic smile. “I wasn’t always a bodyguard, товарищ.”

You stepped to the side as they began finalizing their plans. Magazines were loaded and weapons checked, the general noise level increasing as phone calls were made and orders were given. You weren’t going with them, but you felt an icy determination wash over you, knowing the plan and having done your part to set it in motion.

Jacob saw you standing there and paused in the act of sliding his own gun into a concealed shoulder holster. He had a strange look on his face, staring at you like he was just seeing you for the first time. And maybe, he finally was.

He buttoned his jacket and stepped over to you. “How are you feeling—do you have everything you need here? Winnie and a couple of guys are going to hang back for protection, but do you want me to call Cho or Potts for you?”

Your lips twitched up in a bittersweet smile. His concern was heartfelt, even if it was a few months too late. Your father had been a nonentity ever since your abduction, and you had all but written that relationship off.

“I’m okay, Dad. Just…try to come back in one piece, yeah?”

In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he swept you up into an awkward hug. “Anything you need, you let me know.”

“Just bring him home to me,” you said. “Bring my husband home.”

***

“Hello James. You’re a hard man to track down.”

The gate swung shut ominously. Alexander Pierce stood in front of him, flanked by no less than a dozen armed men. Bucky stared straight ahead blankly, refusing to acknowledge his presence. His wrists were nearly free, but he didn’t dare try while there were that many guns trained on him.

“Take the tape off his mouth. We’re going to have a little discussion, him and I.”

The tape was ripped free, and Bucky spat a wad of blood on the floor, still refusing to look at him. Pierce sighed and bent down, his hands on his knees, staring at him as if he was a curious insect he’d caught in his web.

_Whack!_

It came out of nowhere, a backhand that rocked him back in the chair. Bucky clenched his jaw and sat back up, staring at the man who had ordered his wife’s abduction and murder.

“Manners, James. You will look at me when I’m speaking, or else I can make this very unpleasant for you.”

Pierce pulled up a chair, sitting opposite Bucky as if they were two gentlemen sitting down for a cordial drink. Rage burned through his veins, scorching everything in its path, but still he remained motionless.

Pierce sighed. “I’m…disappointed, James. Would you like to know why?”

Bucky said nothing.

“I’ll take your rudeness as a yes.” He leaned forward. “Jacob is a short-sighted man and a coward. Your father merely lacks ambition. They were too stuck in their old ways, unwilling to embrace the new order and fall into line like everyone else. But you…you were different. You were able to divorce yourself from the petty emotions and do what needed to be _done_.

He paused thoughtfully. “We could have done great things, you and I. We could’ve shaped this city. After marrying the girl off to Brock and assuming control of Queens, I intended to make you an offer—you could keep control of Brooklyn in return for your loyalty to me. This city is at a tipping point, and all it would’ve taken was a little push, with your help.”

Bucky could see Pierce was starting to get angry, despite all his talk of divorcing emotion.

Good.

“But instead you fell in love with the little slut. Gave up everything—for a _woman_. My men tell me that you’ve practically become a hermit up there with her, hiding yourself away from the world and grasping at the domestic bliss that you will never have. Not someone like you.”

Still, Bucky refused to rise to the bait. Pierce narrowed his eyes.

“I heard you got her knocked up. Is that what you thought would happen? That you and the little missus would just live happily ever after? After everything you’ve done?” He shook his head. “Not in this life. You took my son away from me— _my legacy_ —and now I’m going to take away George’s. A son for a son.”

One of the henchmen pressed a finger to the comms device in his ear, and nodded to Pierce.

“Just in time. Looks like the cavalry has arrived.” He stood, brushing at his suit. “You know, I bet Y/N will make a pretty widow. I might just pay her a visit after its over, take her and junior under my wing. That’ll be poetic, don’t you think?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Pierce cocked an eyebrow. “As last words go, not very original.” He walked to the gate, pausing as it was opened. “Kill him. Leave the body for them to find.”

The rest of the men filed out behind him, leaving Bucky alone with the two men from before. The tall one leaned against the wall as the Pesci knock-off pulled his handgun.

He leveled it at Bucky’s face, and pulled the trigger.

Bucky’s hands shot up, ripping free from the tape and shoving the gun to the side at the last second. It went off, impossibly loud in the cavernous space as the bullet passed inches from his ear.

He grabbed the man in a chokehold and spun. Bullets thudded into the man’s body as Bucky used him as a human shield, firing the dead man’s gun until there were two bodies on the floor, and the chamber was silent once more.

Bucky cursed and ripped the remains of the tape free. They would’ve only been expecting a single shot. He heaved the body of the taller man into the chair, propping him up before dragging the other body out of the way. He ducked behind the door just as he heard the sound of running footsteps.

Three more men burst through the door, fatally pausing in confusion over the body slumped in the chair. Three shots to the head, and they went down as well.

He moved quickly, snatching up extra magazines and one of their comms devices. As he armed himself he listened, quickly learning that not only was Pierce still in the building, but his father’s men were right outside.

Bucky allowed himself to finally feel the burning rage and vengeance as he ducked out into the corridor in search for Pierce.

It was time to end this.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+** NSFW, Blood/Violence, Criminal Activities, Murder/Death, Pregnancy, Angst, Language.
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

Bucky moved down the corridor, one shoulder to the wall as he ducked around corners, sweeping room after room. The need for stealth was long gone—by the sound of it, there was quite the shootout going on above him.

There still was need for caution, though. They had been keeping him underground in the processing facility, and the place was laid out like a maze. Plenty of spurs and side legs off the main corridor made the situation perfect for an ambush.

Bucky pressed on, rage making him careless. He’d heard on the open comms that Pierce was still in the building—somehow, his father had the place surrounded. But Pierce was slippery, and there was no way Bucky was going to allow him to get away this time.

Shots rang out just as he ducked around the corner into the open pens, peppering the wall behind him. Bucky cursed, firing blindly as he dove for cover.

 _Where the hell did these guys come from?_ It seemed like not everyone had been taken in by the distraction at the main entrance. A flash of red hair, and he saw Pierce being hustled out the back of the room, flanked by his bodyguards. He shot at the retreating figures, ducking back down again as the gunfire intensified.

He was pinned down. More of Pierce’s men had entered the holding area behind him, cutting off his retreat. Bucky made every bullet count, but while he was steadily thinning their numbers, he was also down to his last magazine.

One of the men went down less than a dozen feet from him, his gun clattering to the dirt. Bucky counted every shot, inching his way over to the fallen man, but he knew even before he heard the final, hollow click that he was empty.

Shots flew over his head, splintering the wood pens around him. His cover wouldn’t hold for long. The body was still out of reach but he tried anyway, snatching his hand back with a curse as bullets kicked up the dirt around him.

Bucky looked down at the empty gun in his hand and closed his eyes in despair.

This was it. He had known that this was the most likely outcome of his decision, but now that it was here he just felt numb. It was the end of the line—for him, at least, but he was going to take as many of them with him as he could.

Eyes squeezed shut, he murmured her name. He could see her face, so clearly it was as if she was standing right in front of him, and all he had to do was reach out and touch her.

Bucky took several deep breaths in preparation for what was to come, and it was with her face in his head that he tensed to move towards the gun and his own end.

“Buck!”

His eyes flew open. There was Steve and Natasha, bursting through a side door and looking for all the world like two archangels of vengeance.

Bucky barely got his hands up in time to catch the gun Steve tossed to him. Stark Technology, he saw with surprise. He moved from a crouch, flicking the weapon off safe and firing just as Steve reached him.

“Where the hell did you guys come from?”

“Over the top,” Steve shouted. “George planned the distraction at the main entrance while we went in after you. Got here just in time—it looked like you were about to do something very stupid.”

“I had ‘em on the ropes.”

“I know you did.”

Pierce’s men didn’t stand a chance. Natasha raised a heavy weapon and fired, and the entire back wall of the holding area erupted in flames. A few more minutes and it was over, and Bucky stood and watched while she made the rounds to put the last few out of their misery. He stared in bewilderment at the weapon in her hands.

“Is that a fucking grenade launcher?” he asked. “Where’d you guys get the hardware?”

She smiled thinly and hefted the weapon. “Courtesy of Tony Stark—upgraded our arsenal and provided some extra men. He was only too happy to pay of his debt.”

Steve cast an appraising glance at his friend. “You okay?”

Bucky was quite sure he looked like absolute shit, and he was grateful Steve didn’t say so. Pierce’s men had worked him over pretty thoroughly, but adrenaline and urgency had pushed that far out of his mind.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Look, we’ve gotta move—Pierce is still down here, I’m not letting him get away. Not this time.”

“There’s a side entrance for deliveries, he probably made his way there. He’s not gettin’ far—we’ve got that covered, too. Don’t worry, we’ll get him.” Steve made a move to take Bucky’s arm. “C’mon, lets get you outta here.”

“No!” He jerked back. “I’m not walkin’ outta here til Pierce is dead. You coming, or not?”

The last bit was called over his shoulder as he moved out of the ruined holding area and through the door he saw Pierce go through. Steve cursed and followed, Nat right at his heels.

She suddenly pressed the comms device in her ear. “They’ve got Pierce pinned down at the delivery entrance.”

“Let’s go.”

“Bucky, wait—"

Steve was still calling out to him as he rounded the corner, but the rest of his words were cut off in a deafening roar of gunfire. Pierce and his bodyguards, cut off in their retreat from the delivery entrance.

Something slammed into Bucky’s shoulder, knocking him back.

He never felt it. He raised his gun and fired at the man who had tried to take everything from him, not stopping until he saw Pierce go down.

The silence was deafening. Through the haze of drifting cordite Bucky advanced, stepping over the bodies until he was standing right in front of Pierce.

Somehow, he was still alive. Not for long, though. The man’s pristine suit was stained with crimson, still oozing from at least four bullet wounds.

He kicked the gun away, and crouched down. “I told you I was going to kill you, Pierce. You never should have gone after my family.”

Pierce gurgled a laugh. “You really think this ends with me? They are never going to be safe. Not in this life.”

“But they will be safe from you.” Bucky paused, listening to the sound of approaching sirens. The sneer slowly slipped from Pierce’s face. “You hear that? That’s the sound of your empire crumbling. Your freakshow of a son is dead, your men are dead, and the police will take the rest. You have _nothing_. You’ve lost.”

In the end, the man died with a whimper, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. Bucky stared at the body for a few moments before Steve’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to see George and Jacob rushing towards them.

George reached him first, nearly knocking him off his feet as he swept his son up in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Bucky relaxed limply into the embrace, barely even able to return it as the adrenaline and tension left him. He felt so tired.

His father pulled back to get a better look at him, but his smile dropped as he looked down. Gingerly, he pulled back the lapel of Bucky’s jacket. Blood blossomed, steadily darkening his shirt in a widening circle.

“You’re hit.”

Bucky fingered the hole in his left shoulder, frowning. “…’s not that bad. I’ve had worse.”

George wasn’t having it, though. “Let’s get you to the car—Steve, get the keys, call ahead and have Banner meet us at the house. Everybody else, get the hell outta here before the cops box us in.”

“I’ll pick up Y/N,” Jacob said, hurrying off with his own men.

“Y/N—how is she? Is she okay? Is she—”

George shushed him, pulling his son’s arm over his shoulder as he saw him stumble. “She’s fine, James. Clint and Winnie are with her, she’s just fine.” He huffed a laugh. “That’s some woman you’ve got there.”

“What do you mean?” George was helping him into the backseat, and Bucky grimaced in pain as Steve peeled out of the alley. “How’d you guys now where I was, anyway?”

“It was Y/N,” Steve said. “You shoulda seen her, Buck. Took charge like she was a boss herself. She figured out the cops were dirty and called the rest of us in, and then it was her that spotted the trap. She was fierce.”

“But the stress…the baby…are they both okay?”

“They’re both fine, James. Winnie was helping keep her calm, Jacob’s gonna go get her and they’ll meet us at the house. You’ll see her soon.”

Bucky nodded wearily. His eyes felt heavy but he fought it, dizziness and fatigue starting to set in. He absolutely refused to close his eyes until he saw that she was all right. 

His father fussed over him, pressing the palm of his hand to the gunshot wound and trying to stem the flow of blood.

Bucky squirmed at the pain. “Dad, I’m fine. Leave off.”

“You’re not. You’re still bleeding too much and you’re as white as a sheet,” George grunted, peering at the wound. “Bullet’s still in there, doesn’t look like it hit anything important, though.”

Despite his gruffness, Bucky saw the fear written on his features. The fear of a father who had almost lost his son.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “I know you think I’m a hothead but I didn’t have a choice this time.”

“I know, James. I know. Y/N told us what happened, what you did for her. I would have done the same thing.” He saw Bucky’s eyes starting to drift shut, and he checked the wound. The bleeding had all but stopped. “Just lay back and try to relax now, it’s over.”

“…’s over,” he murmured, finally allowing himself to rest back against the headrest, a small little smile playing over his lips knowing he’d get to see Y/N soon.

***

“He’s right down this way, Bruce is with him now.”

“How bad is it?” you asked as you followed Winnie down the hallway of their home. All Jacob had been able to tell you was that Bucky was safe, but that he’d been hurt. Not bad enough to require a hospital, but enough that they’d had to have the family physician meet them when they’d arrived.

“Pierce’s men worked him over pretty good, and George said he was shot in the shoulder. He was still conscious when they brought him in, though, he’s been asking about you ever since. Wouldn’t let Bruce touch him until he was sure you were safe and on your way with Jacob—he’s worried sick about you.”

“Me?” you huffed. “He’s the one that got shot.” Your heart clenched at the thought, but you pushed it aside. Bucky was alive, that was the important part.

“Steve got him to calm down, and Bruce was able to get the bullet out. He lost a little blood, but it didn’t hit anything vital. He’s going to be fine.”

You could see the worry there behind her words, but outwardly, Winnie was an oasis of calmness, and certainty. You drew from it—it wouldn’t do Bucky any good getting yourself all worked up.

“Here we are.”

Hesitantly, you opened the door to Bucky’s room. It was his old bedroom at his parent’s house, you knew, now made over into a guest room. The furnishings had been changed but mementos from his childhood still dominated the walls, photographs showing him as he grew into the man you loved more than life itself.

Bucky was sitting up in bed, and when he saw who was in the doorway his eyes went wide and he tried to get up.

“Y/N—"

Banner pushed him back down. “Sit, I’m not done yet. You want this thing to open back up?” He was just putting in the last couple of stitches, and you slowly walked to his bedside, biting your lip as you took in Bucky’s appearance.

Bruises under both eyes and a split lip, dried blood crusted down the side of his face. He was shirtless, a small round hole marring his perfect skin just where his collarbone met his shoulder.

“There. Let me just clean you up a bit, and we’ll be good to go.”

“I’ll do it,” you said quietly. “Please.”

Banner started to object, but Winnie drew him away. “Let her. She can handle it. C’mon, Bruce, let’s give them some privacy.”

Slowly, you sat on the bed as they exited, taking the washcloth in hand. You’d just dipped it in the bowl of warm water and brought it up to his face, when he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely whispered, and you knew before you looked there would be tears in his eyes. You could hear it. He reached out and took your hand, hesitantly rubbing a thumb across your knuckles.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You sniffed, and gave him a watery smile. “Although if you ever do that to me again, James Buchanan Barnes, I swear to god, I’ll shoot you myself.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, the tears starting to spill over. You caught them with the cloth, gently sponging away the blood from his face.

“Fair enough.”

“I know why you did it.” You shook your head. “I didn’t see it in the moment, but the way you were looking at me—I knew. Big dumb hero.”

“I couldn’t let them take you again.”

“I know.” You dabbed at the cut on his lip, your hand trembling. Bucky took the cloth from you and set it aside, cradling your face in his hands. Seeing him like this—what he’d done for you, how badly he’d been hurt—it broke something inside you, and this time there was not stopping the tears.

“Shh…no, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. I’m okay. I’ll be fine. It’s over now. It’s all over.”

Bucky drew you into his arms. At first you resisted, not wanting to hurt him further, but he eventually won out. He laid back against the pillows, cradling you to him as he sighed into your hair.

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought that was it for me,” he whispered.

_“I love you, Y/N. No matter what happens, never forget that. I love you both so much.”_

You knew it. His last words to you had been playing over and over in your head, ever since that door had swung shut. Bucky being led away in handcuffs by two crooked cops, and you had been utterly helpless to stop it.

“It wasn’t though,” you said. And that was the important thing. “You stopped him. You did what had to be done, and you came home to me. And now I’m here with you, Bucky, and I am never, ever letting you go.”

He shook his head. “Never.”

Then his lips were crashing into yours, bruises and cuts be damned. You drank him in, savoring the feel of him once again in your arms. The taste of him, his scent, tainted with the coppery undertone of blood, but that was okay. Bucky was alive.

He had fought for you. Laid down his life in order to ensure the safety of his family, but he was _here_. With you. Just as you’d fought tooth and nail to bring him home, and now it was finally over.

“I love you so, so much, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips. His eyelids were starting to grow heavy, and he sighed quietly as he laid back, fingers trailing lightly over your face.

“I love you too Bucky. Now and always—you’re everything to me.”

Bucky smiled softly. His hand had drifted down to your stomach, and you smiled too, feeling your son press against your skin in response to his body heat.

“This,” he said, looking up at you. “This is everything. Everything I’ll ever want, and everything I’ll ever need. I’m done, Y/N. I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want out—for both of us. Two close calls.” He shook his head. “I thought I could keep us safe. Time and time again, but look what’s happened. I’m tired. So, so tired, of all of it. I want to be done. It’s not worth it.”

You were pretty sure you knew what he was saying, but that was a conversation for later. Bucky was blinking heavily, barely able to keep his eyes open.

You tucked into his side, careful to avoid his injuries. Bucky nuzzled your cheek, pressing a final kiss there just before he lost the battle with exhaustion, lips still curled in a faint smile as he drifted off to sleep. 

You watched him, his face relaxed in a way you hadn’t quite seen it before. Like a load had been lifted there. Fingers ghosting over his injuries protectively, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest slow and deepen as you thought about what he had said.

Two close calls. For both of you.

Pierce may be dead, but the future was still uncertain. Not knowing how the cards would fall in the wake of the Manhattan titan’s death. You were safe for now, but what happened when the next rival family threatened yours?

Those were thoughts for the morning, though. Instead, you allowed yourself to give in to the sleep that was calling, kissing Bucky softly on the lips before you settled against him. Between your bodies you could feel your son shifting in your belly, and you smiled.

This, right here. This was everything.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Pregnancy, Fluff, Wee bit of Angst, Whole lot of Kissing
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whole lotta kissing and crying and feelings in this chapter, and yes, I added a couple more chapters. There's one more after this, then a short epilogue. Thanks for reading!

Y/N was still asleep when Bucky woke the next morning. Dawn was just beginning to peek through the curtains, and when he craned his neck to look at the time, he saw with no surprise that they’d slept the entire day, straight through the night.

He watched Y/N for a moment, still in utter amazement that he was lying in bed with her, safe and sound in his arms. Drinking in the sight of her, bridging the gap between this moment and what he had been sure was his last look, just a couple days ago.

Bucky took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and nuzzling her hair as silent tears fell. He could easily lose himself in the downward spiral of what had been taken and what more could have been lost, and he clutched her to him like a lifeline. Grounding himself in the warmth of her skin and the feel of her body pressed against his.

If it wasn’t for that touch, Bucky wasn’t sure that he would have believed she was real. In his experience, the things that seemed too good to be true often were, but this right here, what he held in his arms—this was real. She was his and he was hers, the small little nudge from her belly reminding him of the new life they were about to bring into the world together.

His family.

Nothing was ever going to take from them ever again. Bucky was going to make sure of it.

Although it physically pained him to do so, Bucky carefully crawled out of bed with a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. There was something he had to do first, and if he let himself stay there with her like he wanted to, he might never get up.

He walked into the closet, pulling out one of his suits. Bucky knew the conversation he was about to have could be conducted just as well in the tee shirt and sweats he was wearing, but he put the suit on anyway. He wasn’t a moody teenager slinking into his father’s office anymore, begging to be allowed to attend Juilliard. No. This was a conversation between two businessmen—between the Family Head and his Lieutenant—and he would conduct himself as such.

Bucky clenched his teeth as he fumbled with his tie. His entire body ached, each bruise and cut singing out in protest at every movement, and his shoulder was positively screaming. He ignored the pain meds Bruce had left him and opted for a couple ibuprofen instead—he wanted a clear head for what was to come.

Predictably, his father was already seated behind his desk, paper in hand. If he was surprised to see his son up and about, he didn’t show it, instead gesturing vaguely to the chair opposite him.

“You’re up early,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be resting? You look like death warmed over.”

“There’s something I’ve got to take care of.”

George looked him for a long moment. “Well, before you get started, take a look at that.” He tossed the newspaper onto the desk, stabbing a finger at the headline in triumph. “That should put a smile on your face.”

Bucky leaned forward in his chair. _Alexander Pierce Dead_ , the headline proclaimed, _Slain Manhattan Businessman Revealed to be Mobster Kingpin._

Further down was another story. _Former Hydra CEO’s Estate and Business Assets Seized as Evidence: Criminal Investigation into Hydra Industries Begins Next Week._

“They’re saying he was shot by his own men—a conflict within the family. Tragic, isn’t it?” George said with a grin of his own. “It’s all falling down like a house of cards, everything Pierce built. It’s all gone.”

Bucky stared at the headlines without really seeing them. Enough to put a smile on his face? No. Maybe once, but not now. Looking at them gave him a dark sense of satisfaction, but mostly…mostly, they just made him feel tired. All the way down to his bones.

“Long time coming,” George said. “Too long. A lot of wheels in motion, now that he’s gone, and we need to strike while the iron’s hot. I spoke with Jacob this morning, and he agreed we should concede the territory but hang on to Pierce’s buyers. He thinks we could sway them to our side…”

“Pop.”

“Now, it’s not gonna be easy, but Pierce crossed a line going after family members, especially women, and that’s not going to sit well with them. I’ve already had Steve reach out to D’Agosta and Mueller, and they’ve agreed to a meet.”

“Dad.”

George either wasn’t listening to him, or was choosing not to. “I know it’s going to take you a few days to get back on your feet properly, but as soon as your able to, I want you to sit down with them, and see who else—”

“Dad. I want out.”

George’s mouth snapped shut. Bucky hadn’t raised his voice, but his tone and the look on his face was one of deadly seriousness, one his father knew all too well. Slowly, he sat back and leveled a gaze at his son.

“You want out.”

Bucky smoothed the newspaper flat as if that caress could impart the weight of those headlines, a weight he was getting damn tired of carrying. “I’m done. With all of it. The guns, the money, the killing—every aspect of this. What we do. I’m done with it.”

When his father said nothing, he continued. “Y/N and I are going to move out of the Penthouse and into our own place. I’m going to get a job—an honest job—and we’re going to live free and clear of all of this. I’m done.”

George still didn’t say anything, but Bucky could see by the muscle ticking in his jaw that he was upset. The minutes continued to stretch on in silence, and Bucky finally got fed up.

“What—you have nothing to say?”

“What would you like me to say?” George said evenly. “My son tells me that he’s decided to walk out on his family, and—”

“ _Walk out on my family?_ I never said anything about that!” Bucky was starting to get angry now. “This business? What we do? Yes. I’m walking away from that. But I never said I was walking away from you and Ma. _Never_.”

Bucky could feel his blood heat as he leaned forward, staring his father down. He’d never squared off with him about a decision like this, not since the piano, and then he’d practically rolled right over. He was not about to roll over now.

“You told me once that a man is worth nothing if he can’t protect the people he loves. Well, I love Y/N. She’s my wife. She’s going to be the mother of my child, and that’s what I’m trying to keep safe.”

His father sighed and looked at him sadly. “Safe? Do you really think it’s going to be as easy as just walking away? You still have enemies. You still have ties to this family whether you like it or not, just like Y/N has to hers. No matter how far you try to push it away, it could always drag you back.”

“I know.” Bucky swallowed thickly. “ _I know_. But I can protect them a hell of a lot better standing on the shore rather than wading hip deep in the muck like I have been. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a better way to live. It’s what we want, and it’s what we need. I’m not asking for your permission, Dad. I’m telling you what we decided.”

George sat back. Bucky could see the disappointment and resignation in his father’s eyes, but he also saw an equal measure of respect. He sighed heavily.

“This doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. Your mother told me where your head was at after Y/N’s abduction, and with a baby on the way and everything that went down yesterday…”

George cleared his throat and shuffled the papers around his desk, frowning. To the casual observer he looked every bit the cold, polished businessman, but Bucky saw right through it. He knew where to look, knew his father’s tells enough to see the true feelings lying just beneath. It was a move Bucky had perfected himself, one that had gotten him into a lot of heartache in the beginning with Y/N.

“Dad, talk to me.”

George opened a drawer and pulled out an ancient rolodex. He thumbed through it a minute and pulled out a card, staring at the raised lettering before handing it over.

_James Rhodes, USAF Ret._

_Iron Patriot Solutions_

_323 Albany Avenue_

_Brooklyn, NY 11231_

“Rhodey is an old friend. A _friend_ , mind you, not a business associate. Rogers told me about the security system you set up at Sophie’s Place, and I checked it out myself. You did a good job—it was professional.” George cleared his throat. “Rhodey owns a security company. Installations, evaluations, that sort of thing. You give him a call, show him what you did there at the shelter, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you on.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek against the swell of emotion. George continued. “It’s not going to be easy, starting over—”

“Neither is living like this. But it’s what we want.”

“Fair enough.” George stood up. “Well, it that’s all—”

“Dad. I’m sorry.”

George froze. His jaw worked for a moment, and he slowly sank back into his chair, shoulders slumping like he’d just let go of something heavy and tiresome.

“Don’t be,” he said quietly. “You almost lost everything. Twice. I understand why you’re doing this, even if wish it hadn’t come to this.”

“I’m not cutting you or Ma out, you know,” Bucky’s lips twitched. “I fully expect you to fulfill all grandfatherly duties. That means baby holding and story time, Sunday afternoon couch cushion forts and weekends in the park playing ball.”

“I wasn’t any good at any of that as a father.”

“Yeah?” Bucky shrugged. “Well, you got a fresh start of it now. We both do. _Grandpa_.”

“Jesus, how did I get so old?”

Both men stood. George held out his hand, and Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling him in for a hug. His father stiffened for only a moment before he relaxed, even going so far as to hug him back, and when they parted the old man’s eyes were suspiciously red.

“You should go back to bed…get some rest. That shoulder looks like it’s givin’ you some grief.”

“I think I will. Eight in the morning and I’m already wore out.”

“Wait til “junior” starts teething—you don’t know what tired is.”

Bucky laughed. “Any advice?”

George thought a minute. “Just love him…listen to him. He’s gonna have two stubborn, headstrong parents, so I imagine he’ll be a little bullheaded himself. Guide him, but…just let him be the man he wants to be.”

 _Don’t make the same mistake I did._ The words were there, even if they weren’t said. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said hoarsely.

George nodded and turned back to his desk, but Bucky paused with a hand on the doorframe. “I love you, you know.”

“I know you do, son. I love you too.” George smiled with a genuine and bittersweet expression that Bucky had only seen a handful of times. “You’re a good man, Buck. You’re gonna be a great father.”

“No hard feelings, then?”

He sighed, but shook his head. “You’ve given me a headache and a bit of a mess to sort through, but no. If this is what you want, what’s going to make you both happy…”

“It is.”

“…then it’s worth it.”

Y/N was awake when he got back to the room, and Bucky halted in the doorway, the sight of her momentarily stealing the breath from his lungs.

She was curled up in the overstuffed chair by the window, reading. The early morning light caught in her hair, illuminating the soft curves beneath her dressing gown with an ethereal radiance that had him all but melting into a little puddle on the floor. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall more in love with her…

Bucky crouched down next to her, whispering the ghost of a kiss to the soft spot just behind her ear. Another one, even softer along the angle of her jaw, grazing his lips up until he found hers.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Y/N hummed. “Morning. You’re up early.”

“I talked to Dad…I didn’t want to wait.”

“How’d it go?”

“It’s done.” He took both of her hands in hers, but her smile faltered a bit.

“Bucky, are you sure this is what you want? You’re not just doing it for me?”

“I’m doing this for us. All of us. You, me, and this little guy right here.” He folded their hands over her belly, fingers interlaced. “This. This is what I want. And this is how I get to keep it.”

“And you’ll be happy? Just living a normal life?”

“Y/N, I’m so happy right now I feel like my heart’s gonna burst. That’s how I always feel around you.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you, but I am never letting you go.”

“Good, because I’m never letting you go either.” She grabbed his tie and pulled him close into a sizzling kiss, one that left him dizzy. “Come back to bed with me, you still look tired.”

Bucky playfully bit her lip as he went back for seconds. “Doll, you don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

“Sweetheart.” A kiss to your temple, and you felt the couch dip as Bucky sat next to you. “Hey—wake up.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, blearily looking up at him. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long, and I’d let you keep napping, but…your Dad’s here.”

That got you up. “What?”

Bucky was chewing the inside of his cheek, picking up on your mood. “He just buzzed the intercom, he said he wanted to talk with you if that was okay. I asked him to wait.”

“Yeah. Yeah, send him up. It’s okay.”

You rubbed your eyes, rolling up to a sitting position as you tried to straighten your clothes nervously, hoping that you didn’t have pillow marks on your face. Dodging the moving boxes strewn about the penthouse, you both made your way to the door, and with a final glance at you, Bucky opened it.

“Dad. Hi.”

“Hi, Y/N. I hope it’s not a bad time.”

“N-No. It’s fine. Come in.”

Your father walked past you and into the kitchen, carrying a large box. Bucky’s eyebrows raised and he looked at you, but you just shrugged.

“You need any help with that, Jacob?” Bucky asked.

“No. Thank you, though,” he said, setting it on the kitchen island. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, fidgeting as he removed his coat. “Actually, I was wondering if I might have a word with my daughter.”

Behind him, Bucky rose up protectively, but you held up a hand. “Yeah. Sure.”

Bucky looked at you questioningly but let it go. He still resented the way your father had treated you in the beginning. The relationship between the two of you was still rocky and uncertain, but you were both _trying_ , and he understood that.

He squeezed your hand as he passed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be in the office if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay, Bucky. Thank you.”

The door to the office shut, and for a long while you both stood there awkwardly.

“James looks well.”

“Yeah, he’s feeling a lot better.”

“Good. That’s good.” Jacob rocked back and forth on his feet, one hand reaching blindly up to pick at a corner of the box. “You’re looking well too…I’m glad to see you both back on your feet.”

“What’s in the box, Dad?”

You cut to the chase, tired of the small talk, and Jacob pursed his lips.

“Some of your old baby things…and some of Sophie’s things from when she was pregnant. I thought that you should have them.”

Wordlessly, you went over to the box and peered inside. A few of your old stuffed animals and toys, some children’s books. A baby blanket that you remembered had been knitted by your grandmother. A very old baby scale and several well-worn booties, as well as a rattle you suspected might have belonged to one of your parents.

And there at the bottom was your baby book.

Paging through it felt like your heart was being squeezed in a vice, but the pain was bittersweet. Photographs of your mother, her face shining with radiant expectation as she carried you, the joyful looks on both your parent’s faces as they held you for the first time. Little notes jotted in the margins here and there. Little anecdotes, what your favorite foods were, when you got your first tooth and what your first word was. The difficulties and joys of pregnancy and her changing life as a new mother, thoughts and hopes for her daughter.

You weren’t sure at what point the tears had started, but they fell in earnest now. “I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too.”

Jacob moved to sit next to you, and this time you didn’t move away. “I miss the way things were, Dad. Before, when we were happy. I miss you both.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how it’s been between us, and the blame falls entirely on my shoulders. You were hurting just as much as I was, and I wasn’t there for you, either time you needed me. I can’t go back and change that. It can’t be undone.”

When he finally looked at you, you were surprised to see the tears in his eyes as well. “I almost lost you like I lost your mother, and it…it messed with my head badly. I know that’s no excuse, I can only imagine how it was for you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you after…after…”

His gaze drifted down to the puckered scars on your hand and wrist, and the words died in his throat. Suddenly you were struck by how old he looked. For all his power and wealth, he was now practically alone, guilt eating him alive.

You closed your eyes. The old grudges had all but faded for you, and as much as his lack of presence the past few months hurt, you understood it. He was a broken man, and you could either perpetuate this cycle of blame and loathing, or you could try to salvage what was left of your relationship.

“Dad, no.” You took his hand, holding it tightly. “I don’t want to go back to that place. All this ugliness between us? I want it to be over. I want to start over. I’m tired of all the bullshit and the fighting. I want my son to grow up knowing his grandfather, and I’m willing to put it behind me if you are. Mom wouldn’t have wanted us to fight like this.”

A watery laugh. “She would’ve kicked both our asses, and then made us hug it out.”

“Under threat of violence.”

Jacob slowly closed the baby book. “I didn’t bring this over today to try to work my way back into your life, now that you’re moving on from all this. I really just wanted you to have these things.”

“I know, Dad. I meant it, though. I want to start over. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Both of you leaned into the hug at the same time, emotions spilling over and overruling any remaining reservations. It was as if you’d been pulled together by an invisible force, and for a moment, you could almost see your mother smiling down at you both.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

You lovingly caressed the baby blanket. “Thank you. Having these things here…it makes me feel like she’s here more than ever.”

“She would have been so proud of you. _I’m_ so proud of you. Both you and James.”

Long after your father had left, you sat there paging through the book, heedless of the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since you’d opened it again.

“Y/N?” Bucky was at your side in an instant, eyes liquid with concern. “Sweetheart, what happened? Are you all right?”

You nodded, hiccupping as he pulled you into his arms. Bucky looked down at what was laying in your lap, and he froze. “Is this…”

“My baby book. It’s almost like a diary my mom kept while she was pregnant and then after I was born.”

Bucky picked up one of the photographs. In it was a fuzzy headed girl with her face frozen in a delighted squeal as she reached for the woman holding her, a woman about your age with precisely the same color hair. A slow smile spread across his face.

“He’s trying, Bucky, and I want to give him a chance. I’m tired of all the anger.”

Bucky reverently placed the photo back in the book. “I am too. It’s a turn of the page for all of us, I think, and if this is what you want, then I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

“Thank you. It’s not gonna be easy, but it’s what I need.”

Bucky gently cupped your face, smoothing away your tears before he kissed you. His mouth was sweet and warm against yours, and it was only a few minutes before the kisses led to something deeper and more insistent. Bucky moaned, shifting on the couch as he felt all his blood drain south.

“I swear,” he panted as you kissed down the length of his throat, “I wasn’t pushing for it to go…this way.”

You were equally as breathless, gently closing the book and setting it on the table before you climbed into his lap. “Mister, I am a mess of hormones right now. I might be crying one minute, but all you’ve got to do is bat those baby blues at me and I want you naked. Beware the wrath of a pregnant lady’s libido.”

Bucky laughed, high and breathless as you started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m not complaining, doll. One look from you and I’m a goner. You can have me anytime you want.”

Your eyes flashed. Grabbing him by the hand, you led him towards the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you.

***

**Three months later**

“Oh my god,” you moaned, “this is good ice cream. Like, really, really good—and not just because I’m pregnant.”

Bucky laughed. The warm spring breeze rustled the budding leaves overhead as joggers skirted around you both, walking hand in hand through the park just like any other couple.

“Here, wanna try some of mine?” he asked as he held the cone out to you. You leaned over, preparing to take a lick, but he bopped you in the nose with it at the last second.

“Asshole!” you giggled, “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“I can’t believe you did either. It’s adorable that you did, though.”

Bucky kissed the ice cream off your nose, stealing another kiss from your lips with a mischievous grin. Then, he looked over your shoulder and waved.

“Hey, there’s Wanda and Pietro—looks like they’re just getting set up.”

You turned, and squealed. “Oh, look! Peggy brought Captain!”

As if on cue, the golden retriever leapt up from where the group had been setting up for the picnic and bounded over to you. Bucky swept protectively in front of you, intercepting the excitable ball of fur before he could knock you over.

Steve ran over, looking apologetic. “Sorry! I probably should have a leash on him, or something.”

“Damn right—we got a lady with a baby here.” He was grinning though, and as soon as Steve clipped the leash to Captain’s collar, he swept his friend up in a bone crushing hug.

“It’s been a while, punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve laughed and pulled you into a firm but gentle hug as well. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” To be honest, you felt like a whale, but being told almost hourly how beautiful you were by Bucky had you almost feeling it yourself.

_A few more weeks…just a few more weeks…_

Bucky smiled softly at you and took your hand as you made your way over to the picnic area. You knew he was just as anxious and excited as you were.

“How’s work treatin’ you, Buck?”

“Good—we’ve got more contracts than we know what to do with. Rhodey’s a great guy to work for, he’s been hinting that he wants to make me a partner, but I’ve been dialing the hours back a bit now that we’re getting close to the due date.”

“Yeah, how long is it now?”

“Four more weeks to go,” you said with an exaggerated glance down at your belly. “I’m ready to be back to a more normal size again, and I think Bucky’s about ready to be done with my cravings.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve. “Pickles and watermelon…yeah, that’s actually a thing apparently.”

“And Hawaiian pizza at eight in the morning,” you added.

“I don’t know what was more offensive,” Bucky groaned, “the toppings or the time of day. Pineapple on pizza, Steve—she’s killin’ me.”

You laughed, not fooled for a second. Bucky absolutely doted on you, attacking the ups and downs and the unknowns of pregnancy like a man on a mission. Showering you with affection, massaging your feet and back when they hurt, and keeping you on track with your diet and fitness.

He even read the baby books.

One of the best parts had been decorating the nursery together. As soon as Bucky had recovered from his injuries, you had both started looking for a new place, eager to move out of the Penthouse. You both had made some good memories there, but there were still a lot of demons lurking in the corners, and moving into your own place felt like a breath of fresh air for you both.

It was a cozy two bedroom apartment in a beautifully renovated old building in Brooklyn, not too far from either the shelter or Bucky’s work. Hardwood floors and a bright, sunny kitchen, but the tiny little room next to yours caught the best light. Your son’s room.

Bucky had reluctantly let you help paint, only after you agreed to take a break every twenty minutes. The crib and changing table had been assembled with no small amount of cursing on his part, the surprisingly long list of essential baby items put away, and now all that was left was the waiting.

Bucky helped you into a chair in the shade, waving over to where a group of the guys had gathered. “You gonna be okay here, sweetheart? The guys wanted to start up a quick game before lunch.”

“Go!” Wanda shooed him. “She’s in good hands. We’ve got baby talk to catch up on.”

“Damn right. No men allowed.” Peggy cocked an eyebrow at him, and he laughed.

“I’ll be fine, Bucky. Go kick Steve’s ass.”

“Oh, I intend to,” he said, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“I seriously think I just got a cavity watching you two,” Wanda groaned.

You laughed, watching Bucky as he trotted away. Gone was the pressed suit and tie—he still wore them to work, but today he was dressed in simple jeans and a tee shirt, black ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He looked happy, smiling easily and laughing often as he tossed a ball back and forth with Pietro and Steve.

You both still had your bad days and your nightmares, moments where you would go quiet as old memories resurfaced. Sometimes you’d just stare at him, afraid that if you took your eyes off him for even a second he would just disappear. You had caught Bucky looking at you with the same expression, but instead of retreating further into yourselves you found solace in each other. After all, you were each other’s strength.

The afternoon wore on. You helped Wanda and Peggy set out lunch, a messy affair with Captain trying to nose his way into all the dishes. The boys finished up their game, popping open a couple of beers while they argued who’d actually won.

After you’d eaten, Bucky sat back against a tree, gently pulling you back into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Comfortable?”

“You make a good cushion,” you nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “Although now that I’m down here, I might have to stay here forever.”

“That a bad thing?”

“Never,” you sighed.

In his arms you felt safe. The warmth of his skin and the comforting squeeze of his muscled beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the low vibrations in his chest as he laughed, watching Steve try to take back the ham sandwich Captain had stolen.

Old friends and new. Your past life and the life you knew now, perfectly bridged, and all you could do is shake your head in amazement. At the man who held you in his arms, and at the tiny life you felt moving deep inside you. Bucky looked down and saw the deeply satisfied smile on your face, and his lips tenderly brushed the shell of your ear.

“You look happy,” he whispered.

“I am happy.” You lightly pressed your finger to the dimple in his chin, tilting his head down so you could kiss him. “I love you, James.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

It was a good day.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+ NSFW** Language, Fluff, Pregnancy, Description of a Birth (not graphic, mostly focusing on the emotional aspects rather than the nitty gritties)
> 
> Series Warnings: *18+*, Blood and Graphic Violence, Injury, Criminal Activities, Medical Procedures/Whump, Rape/Aftermath of Rape, Death of Minor Characters, Pregnancy/Birth, Depression, Anxiety, Angst, Smut, Fluff.

The final few weeks of Y/N’s pregnancy passed in a blur. As her due date drew closer, Bucky found himself seesawing between two moods—a crippling boredom born of inactivity and anticipation, and a manic drive to get everything ready as the window started to close.

Suddenly, it had become all to real for him. He was going to be a father.

A father. _Him_.

And it terrified him just a little bit.

Y/N seemed anxious, too. She slept more during the day, usually on the couch in a cocoon of pillows, and when he caught her refolding the same baby clothes for the fifth time, he decided to say something about it.

“I think those clothes were folded good enough the first four times, doll.”

She laughed self-consciously. “I know, I know. I just…don’t know what to do with my time. Wanda’s taken over my case load, I’m sick of reading, I’m as big as a whale…”

Bucky pulled her back into his chest, grinning as he held his thumb and his forefinger an inch apart as he teased her.

“Just a _little_ whale, though. Like, a beluga—ooh, or a narwhal. Ouch!” He laughed as she playfully smacked him across the chest.

“Ass!”

Then she sighed, relaxing back into his embrace.

“My beautiful whale…”

Whispered against the shell of her ear, feather light kisses trailed down the side of her neck. A soft moan, and Bucky felt his heart swell as she twisted in his arms, capturing his lips with hers.

“Keep kissing me like that, and I just might forgive you for calling me a whale,” she murmured.

“I don’t really think you’re a whale. But I do think you’re beautiful. More and more every day, since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I’ll never get enough of you.”

Their world dissolved into soft kisses and touches, lazy smiles and carefree giggles, and they soon found themselves cuddled up in bed. Just laying together, and Bucky could see in her eyes that she was just as amazed by their good fortune as he was.

“What’re you thinking about,” she asked, running her fingers through his hair. “I can see that little worry crease on your brow.”

She leaned in to kiss it away, and he smiled. “Nothing bad, I’m just anxious. Excited. Terrified.”

“I know. I saw you repacking the hospital bag last night. How many times is this?”

“Seven,” he winced.

“I’m anxious too. Any day now, and we’re going to be parents. I just, I wish…” She drifted off, and her smile fell a bit.

Bucky knew she was thinking about Sophia again. The closure with her father and being able to read her mother’s words in the baby book had helped, but he knew she had been missing her more and more lately.

“You’re going to be a great mother, Y/N. I know it, because you’re great at everything you do.” Bucky pressed his lips to hers and tenderly smoothed tiny circles across her cheekbone.

“You think so?”

“I do. _We’re_ gonna be great parents, because we want this so badly. Our love for each other, and the love we’re going to give to this little guy,” his hand rested lightly on her belly, “that’s what matters. Yeah, we’re gonna make mistakes, and it’s gonna be scary, but we’ve got this. You’ve got this. Hell—look at everything we’ve already been through this past year.”

Her hand rested over his. “It’s a little hard to believe. It doesn’t seem real sometimes.”

“It is, though.” Bucky pulled her into his arms. “I’m here, you’re here. Soon, our son’s gonna be here, too. Ain’t nobody gonna take that away from us. Not now, not ever.”

The words were spoken tenderly, but there was a fierce promise there, too. Y/N heard it, and tilted his chin down to her.

“I love you, Bucky.”

Lips twitching into a smile. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

***

As it turned out, when the big day came—one week early—Bucky wasn’t even home.

It was a Friday, and he’d just put in a half day at the office. Rhodey was a great boss, but there were only so many things that Bucky could take care of from home. On his way back, he stopped by their favorite food truck and a flower vendor, walking home with arms full and a renewed step, looking forward to spending a quiet evening with his wife.

Key in the lock, then keys in the bowl by the door. Shoes kicked off and jacket hung up. That was as far as he got before he realized how quiet the house was.

Too quiet.

For one brief and terrible moment, Bucky’s mind flashed back to a similar night. The night she’d been taken. Flowers and takeout forgotten on the counter, his heart in his throat, he quickly moved though the apartment in a frenzy, calling out for his wife.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you—”

She was in the tub, eyes closed and earbuds in. Soothing music and deep breathing.

“Y/N?”

She startled a little when he touched her arm, but the soft smile she gave Bucky told him everything. Excitement, uncertainty, and something that he could only describe as a motherly serenity was radiating from her, and suddenly, he understood.

“It’s happening? Right now? Really?” Bucky asked, eyes wide and breathless. And he did have to ask, especially after the way he’d panicked when she first started having Braxton Hicks contractions.

“It’s the real deal,” she smiled. “I think it started early this morning, it’s been slowly ramping up since then.”

Bucky huffed as he knelt down beside her. “Jesus, doll, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, especially since last time.”

“God, you’re too much.” He kissed her temple. “H-How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, closing her eyes and breathing through another contraction. Bucky was struck by how calm, how strong she was, and he fell in love with her all over again. His hands hovered near, unsure if he should touch her or not.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes opened, and she nodded. “It’s not too bad yet, just like a very intense squeeze. Helen said this first part will take a while, and to spend the time somewhere I’m comfortable. We don’t have to go in until the contractions are about 5 minutes apart or my water breaks.”

Bucky looked down at the water dubiously. “How’re you gonna tell that in the tub?”

“You’re probably right,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s getting cold anyway.”

Bucky helped her up, got her toweled off and situated in the nursery’s rocker. The next couple hours were spent with excited phone calls and texts to parents and friends, checking and re-checking the hospital bags, and finally it was time.

“Oh shit!”

Bucky nearly went through a wall trying to get to her. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I think my water just—holy shit!” She gripped the arms of the rocker, hissing through her teeth. “Okay, it’s getting worse now, time to go.”

The car was already waiting downstairs. Jacob had sent it over as soon as Bucky had called. He helped her change as the driver took the bag down to the car. Their progress downstairs was halting and slow as she breathed through the contractions, but Y/N absolutely drew the line at allowing Bucky to carry her.

Bucky had thought that it would be difficult, being back at the hospital with her. Seeing the doctors hovering near, Y/N looking small and fragile in the hospital bed. The sounds, the smells…he still had nightmares about it.

He needn’t have worried. The maternity ward was worlds different than the ICU. Carpeted floors and soft colors, furnished to look like a cozy apartment or a hotel room instead. Even the bed was different. Yes, the antiseptic smell was there, and he ended up having to look away when they put in her IV, but gradually his unease evaporated as they settled in.

Soon, they were left alone to work through the first stage of labor. Breathing in, breathing out. His hand on the small of her back, soothing circles and heat as she balanced on the birthing ball and clutched at him.

At first he felt helpless, ultimately unable to do much more for her than rub her back and talk to her. He started to watch for the contractions on the monitor, learning to anticipate them and prepare her, carrying her through it as best they could. Gradually, they fell into a rhythm.

Hours passed.

It was a unique experience, he decided. Bucky had seen a lot of pain in his day, but sharing this with her, this labor, was something so unexpectedly intimate. Stripped down to her most basic self as she shouldered the weight, leaving nothing but her strength and courage behind. All Bucky could do was watch her in awe.

As the labor grew more insistent, more people filtered into the room. Bucky barely noticed them. Y/N was moved up to the bed, and they moved through several positions until they found something she was comfortable with.

Then the real work began.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe with me.”

A nod and another contraction, and she gripped his hand hard enough to hurt.

“It hurts. It fucking huts so bad,” she sobbed.

“I know, honey, I know. It’s okay, you just gotta breathe.”

Y/N already looked spent. She looked up at him, panting slightly. “This isn’t working, I’ve got to get up.”

“O-Okay.”

Alarmed, Bucky looked to the labor nurse, but she just nodded. Y/N was already rolling to her knees, facing the head of the bed. The nurses moved him into a position where he could help her, and Y/N clutched onto his shoulders, burying her head against his neck.

That seemed to work better, and it wasn’t too long before the nurse told her to start pushing.

Y/N gripped at him as she worked, hard enough to leave bruises. Bucky held her tightly, alternating between soft praises and tense cheers.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, so good. Just rest a bit before the next one…I love you so much.”

She nodded against him, unable to do much more than pant in his ear.

“Okay, here it comes, another big push…you’re got this…c’mon, push with me…”

Time seemed to winnow down to each breath, each heartbeat, each push, everything falling away until it was just the two of them working to bring their son into the world.

“I can see the head now, looks like this little fella’s got a full head of hair,” the nurse smiled.

“You hear that sweetheart? Almost there…another big push now…”

That time Y/N bit back a scream.

Bucky’s voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw tightly. “You’re doing so good, we’re almost there—”

“Okay, Y/N just one more big push for the shoulders.”

“C’mon love, one more. Just one more.”

She tensed, steeling herself. Bucky could almost feel the phantom echoes of her struggle and pain rip through him during that final push, but a second later, it all melted away. Y/N gasped, pulling back to look at him as they heard it.

The most beautiful sound in the world.

The squeaky, ragged cry of a newborn.

Their son.

“B-Bucky?”

He stared over her shoulder, slack jawed as the nurses maneuvered the tiny, squalling body. Wrinkled and writhing and breathtakingly beautiful, and all he could do was nod and kiss her forehead as the nurses helped her to turn and lay back, the breath momentarily knocked from his body.

Their son.

“Dad? Did you want to cut the cord?”

Of course he did.

The nurses helped guide him. Bucky couldn’t stop staring, not even after they gently helped him transfer the baby up to Y/N’s chest. Immediately, the baby stopped crying and nuzzled close to the warmth of her skin.

Bucky wept openly at the sight. “I love you, Y/N…I love you so much. I’m so proud of you.”

Sweaty and exhausted, looking up at him with a watery smile as she cradled their son in her arms, and Bucky decided right then and there he had never seen anything so beautiful.

“I love you too, Bucky.” She kissed him firmly on the mouth, her free hand cupping the back of his head and drawing him close. Bucky returned the kiss with equal strength, punctuating it with a softer one before he moved down to the tiny head resting against her chest.

Hair as downy soft as peach fuzz, and dwarfed by his hand as he gently cupped the baby’s head. Something so fragile, so precious, something that they had created together.

Then those two little eyes opened and looked at him.

Bucky was undone. He knew right there that he would never be the same. His life had forever changed the moment Y/N walked into it, and here, now, looking into their child’s eyes for the first time…he was remade into something new. The start of a new and wonderful chapter in their lives.

“Hey there, little Daniel…I’m you’re Daddy,” Bucky smiled, kissing he wrinkled little forehead. “And this tough lady right here’s your mama.”

Both parents cuddled together as the babe nuzzled at his mother’s breast, one tiny hand clutching his father’s finger. Once again, the world fell away, leaving just the three of them together in the quiet sanctity of their first moment together as a family.

***

**Three months later**

“Ma just texted, they’re on their way over.”

Bucky was leaning in the doorway to the nursery, already dressed in his suit and tie and looking good enough to eat. Your breath caught just at the sight of him, and he bit his lip, color rising high in his cheeks as you undressed him with your eyes.

“Doll, you’re the only woman in the world that can make me blush like a schoolboy just by lookin’ at me,” he said, though the way he was looking at you left little doubt as to what sinful thoughts were currently running through his mind.

“Bashful’s a good look on you,” you teased. “Especially when you do that scrunchie nose thing—yep, there it is.”

Bucky huffed and tilted your chin up so he could kiss you, his lips curling into a smile as he felt his son’s hands grab at his face. “Sorry little guy, not paying you enough attention? Why don’t you come to Daddy and let your Mama get ready for her big date.”

You carefully handed both baby and burp cloth over to Bucky, who expertly shifted Danny against his shoulder, rubbing soft circles on his back until he coaxed out a burp.

“Thank you—I think he needs to be changed, though, too.”

Bucky made a face as he agreed. “I’ll give you one thing, little man, you’re regular. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got this.”

One final kiss and you walked across the hall to the master bedroom, reveling in the thought of a night out with Bucky. It wasn’t as if the two of you hadn’t been able to go out together—on the contrary, Danny never lacked for enthusiastic babysitters. Tonight was different though. Tonight was special.

It was your anniversary.

A little smile was on your face as you put on your dress and did your hair and makeup. Heels slipped on and perfume applied. You felt happy and alive and deliciously sexy, but above all, you felt loved.

And who would have thought, all those months ago. Standing there at the altar with a complete stranger, a man you had only seen in photographs.

Even then, he had opened his heart to you, offering up all of the warmth and love and safety he had to give.

_“Y/N. I know this union isn’t ideal and it’s not what you wanted, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re both standing up here before God and half the population of New York.”_

_“Y/N, from this day forward, I give you my heart, and I promise to love you and protect you. I promise to be faithful to you and to make you happy. I promise to be your equal in all things, during the good times and the bad, for the rest of our lives.”_

_“With this ring I seal these promises to you, my darling wife.”_

“Sweetheart? You okay?”

You hadn’t even heard him come in behind you. For a minute, all you could do was stare at him. This man you loved more than life itself.

“More than okay. I’m perfect.” You stood, wrapping your arms around him. “Where’s Danny?”

“Ma’s got him. Her and Dad just walked in.” Bucky held you at arm’s length, looking you up and down. “You are…a vision. Even now, you take my breath away. How’d I get so lucky?”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing. I can’t believe it’s been one year.”

“Been a hell of a year.”

You nodded. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’d repeat any of it, but…it got us where we are now, and there is nowhere I’d rather be. I love you, James.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Bucky hummed as you kissed him, lips parted as you drank him in. Every shudder and every sigh, your hands fisted in the lapels of his suit while his roved down over your waist, settling on your rear before he pulled back breathlessly.

“Careful now,” you laughed. “You’re gonna make a mess of me before we even get to the restaurant.”

“Doll, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned. “We’ve got a whole night ahead of us and all I can think about is how to get you out of that dress. At the same time, though, I just want to sit back and look at you, you’re so beautiful. Pretty as a picture.”

Bucky frowned. “One thing missing, though…”

From the inside of his suitcoat, he pulled out a small, flat box. Black with a gold fabric bow.

“Bucky, you didn’t have to—”

“Trust me. I did.”

You opened the box, and you understood.

It was your mother’s necklace. The one your father had given her the day you were born, the one she had never taken off. Of all the things you remembered most about her—her scent, the sound of her laugh, her smile—that necklace always stood out in your memory.

Of course, it wasn’t the same necklace. It couldn’t be. The original had been lost years ago on the fateful night you had lost her. It had never been found, and seeing it again brought a wave of emotion.

“Bucky…Bucky, I—” you sniffed and looked up at him in surprise. “How did you—”

Bucky looked at you, his face solemn. “Recreated from old photographs. Jacob helped me with the details, and we found a jeweler that was able to reconstruct it. Except this one has Daniel’s birthstone instead of yours.”

“Oh, Bucky…”

He drew you close as you furiously blinked back tears. “You know I’d give you the world if I could. I’d bring her back if I could. Anything for you,” he whispered. “I know how much you miss her and I thought, maybe, having this would help you to feel closer to her.”

And it did. Bucky fastened the clasp, lightly kissing the back of your neck as you watched in the mirror. Just seeing it again felt like coming full circle, your mother there to guide you through your journey as a wife and mother with the same strength and grace that she had.

“It’s perfect, Bucky, it’s…I don’t even have words. Thank you.”

Eyes blown wide, the thin ring of blue dazzling in intensity as he gently tipped your face up to meet his. “I never knew what a hole I had in my life until you filled it. How lost I was, until you were there, brightening everything you touched. There were so many times this past year when I felt like…like I had caught a shooting star by the tail, and as hard as I tried to hold onto it, it just kept slipping through my fingers.

“And now, standing here with you in my arms, in the home that we made together, watching you with our son…I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He shook his head, a crooked, besotted smile of disbelief on his lips. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

***

The night was perfect. You felt like you were dating again, holding hands as you walked down the sidewalk towards the river. Stealing kisses under the stars and the city lights, as carefree as any two lovers can be.

“I hate that we missed out on this,” Bucky said.

“What—the dating?”

“Yeah. We’re kinda doing it backwards…Everything was so jammed up in the beginning, I wish I’d had the chance to woo you properly.”

You laughed. “Woo me? Bucky Barnes, you sound like a romance novelist.”

“What ever it’s called. You deserve it.”

You pulled him to a stop. “You remember what you said up at the front of that church? Romania? Picking flowers for me every morning, cooking for me, playing piano for me? Whispering sweet nothings—in _Romanian_ , no less?”

“Îți voi spune că te iubesc în toate limbile pe care le pot.” Bucky grinned. “I’ll tell you I love you in every language I can.”

You gently brushed your thumb along his jaw. “And then later, even when we had our ups and downs, you never gave up. You reached out to my friends, the things you did for the shelter…you were even willing to let me go. To let me decide, just because you didn’t want me to feel trapped. You wanted me to be happy.”

You shook your head. “James, you’ve been wooing me since the second we met, and you’ve never stopped. Your first words to me knocked me off my feet, and I’ve been falling for you ever since. Te iubesc, James.”

He looked down at you, eyes shining with all the love you knew he held for you in his heart.

“Și eu te iubesc.”

***

Much later that night, after you and Bucky had fallen into an exhausted but blissful sleep, limbs tangled and bodies still shining with the afterglow of your lovemaking, you crept out of bed. A tender, lingering kiss to Bucky’s forehead, smiling when he didn’t even so much as twitch, he was sleeping so heavily.

You padded across the hall to your son’s bedroom.

Daniel slept like James. Heavily, which was a blessing in itself, arms thrown wide. He wrinkled his nose as you smoothed a light hand over his fuzzy little head, lips twitching as he sleep nursed.

Satisfied that he was neither in need of a change or a feeding, you padded into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Everything silent and still. Loved etched in every corner of the little apartment, the soft light from the city that never sleeps filtering though the blinds and throwing everything into a dreamlike haze.

This. This right here—this was your life now. Your world. A year ago you could have never imagined being this happy, this at peace with yourself and your role in life. You still had your work, but this—your family—it meant everything.

Bucky blinked sleepily as you slid back into bed. “Everything good, doll?”

If it wasn’t you making the nightly rounds, then it was him, both of you sharing the same incessant need to ensure the security of the little world you’d created. The caretaker and the protector.

“All quiet, he’s sound asleep.”

“Good. C’mere.”

Bucky tugged you back into his arms, and was asleep again with a soft sigh. You curled into him, fingers ghosting over the scars on his chest and settling over his heart as sleep claimed you as well.

The future was still uncertain, and would always be. It was something you’d both accepted. It was okay. As scary as the prospect of the unknown could be, it was also what made life worth living. It was what had led you to where you were now.

And there was nowhere else you would rather be.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: **18+ NSFW** Smut, Fluff

**Four Years Later**

“What’s that one called?”

“Alstroemeria.” Bucky answered.

“I like it. It looks like a sunset.”

“That’s why your mom likes them so much. They go really nicely with…these.” Bucky cut a couple more stems, adding the pale pink flowers to the bouquet his son was holding. “Peonies. Those are her absolute favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yep, had ‘em at our wedding. Same color.” Bucky added a couple dark pink tea roses, and crouched down in the dirt, motioning for his son to come closer.

“All right, we’ve got enough flowers, we’ve got to add some greenery here. Here’s some…eucalyptus, and some…lamb’s ear.”

Danny frowned. “What’re they for? I thought we were supposed to be pickin’ flowers?”

“We are,” Bucky laughed. “You’ve gotta have a bit of greenery in there, it makes the flowers look prettier. And look—the eucalyptus makes it smell nice, and the lambs ear—feel that right there. Isn’t that soft?”

Danny smiled. “It is. Like a lambs ear.”

“That’s where it gets its name. You’ve got to have a variety of textures along with the colors, see?”

Danny nodded as they both stood and moved down the path. The morning sun had just started to peak over the Romanian hills, and Bucky felt a strange doubling effect. Almost five years ago to the day, walking through that very garden, picking flowers for a woman who he had already been more than a little in love with.

“Do you think mom will like them?”

Bucky smiled, grabbing a sturdy blade of fountain grass and showing his son how to wrap it around the stems and tie it around the middle just so. “I think she will.”

“How do you know which ones to pick?”

“Well, first off, you can’t just pick just any old flowers. You have to think about it—what you’re trying to say. The colors, the fragrance, even each flower itself means something different. It’s like…writing a love letter.”

Danny looked dubiously down at the bouquet in his hand. “What do these ones mean?”

“Strength and devotion,” he said, pointing to the delicate alstroemeria buds. “Peonies are for honor and friendship, and roses…are love.”

They were walking back up to the villa now. “How do you know so much about flowers? Did grandma teach you?”

Bucky laughed. “Actually it was Grandpa. He said it would come in handy when I was older and trying to win over a girl.”

“Is that how you won over mom?”

“You’re sure full of questions this morning, bud.” Bucky sighed. “It helped—your mother didn’t make it easy for me. The best ones never do, though. They’re worth fighting for.”

He took the flowers from his son and pointed to the patio, where George was lounging and reading his paper. “Hey, I see Grandpa’s up—I bet if we get a little coffee in him, he might be up for watching some Paw Patrol over breakfast.”

He kissed his son on the top of the head and Danny sped down the path. Thirty minutes later, he was happily ensconced on the couch next to his grandpa, eating cereal and singing along with George as they belted out the Paw Patrol theme song. Bucky would have been less astounded if a two-headed dragon had decided to burst through the front door.

He was still laughing to himself as he crept into the bedroom across from theirs, peeking into the crib at the pink pajamaed eight month old, thumb firmly in her mouth with her feet scrunched up under her, fast asleep.

Their daughter, Sophia.

Bucky reached down, caressing her head and down her back, smiling softly as she twitched in her sleep. Beautiful, just like her mother.

***

“Morning, beautiful.”

Words murmured delicately against the shell of your ear, and you smiled as his lips brushed your cheek.

“Hmm…what time is it?”

“Almost nine. How’d you sleep? I heard you get up a couple of times.”

“Sophie had a bit of a rough night, I think all that napping on the plane screwed with her. She still asleep?”

“Yeah. I just checked her. Danny’s out with Dad—I had no idea he knew the words to the Paw Patrol theme song.”

“What?”

“Singing. Both of them.”

You laughed. “You Barnes men are all the same. Tough guys on the outside, but inside? Big gooey marshmallows.”

You grabbed the vee of his shirt, pulling him down onto the bed with you. It was only then that you noticed he was hiding something behind his back.

“What’s—”

Bucky bit his lip, blushing slightly and he withdrew his hand. “Happy anniversary, Y/N.”

A gorgeous bouquet, hand picked from the garden below. A call back to those first few mornings, all those years ago.

“Oh, James, they’re beautiful.”

He looked at you, blinking back tears as you accepted the flowers. You only called him James when you were exceptionally cross at him or exceptionally in love with him, and he smiled.

“Five years.”

“Five years,” you repeated. “How did it all go so fast?”

And it really had. After that first year, all those highs and those lows, after everything you both had survived, you finally had the life you had fought so hard for. First the birth of your son and then your daughter, the little life you had built in Brooklyn. Family and friends reunited and kept close. Birthdays and holidays, picnics and outings. Moments shared and cherished.

James had become a partner with Rhodey, and Iron Patriot Solutions was now one of the leading security companies in Brooklyn. You had been able to continue your work with the shelter remotely, handing off the day-to-day operations to Wanda so you could be at home with your children. Wanda and Pietro came over almost every other day, it seemed, although you suspected it was less out of a need for a business meeting and more out of a need to play with their honorary niece and nephew.

Steve had officially taken over the mantle of Barnes Enterprises. It was the obvious choice—he was already practically part of the family, and Bucky wholeheartedly supported it. You knew he still worried for his friend as he did with the rest of the family still tied up in the mob life, but he would never voice it. _Be safe_ , was all he said.

And for the most part, safe was what you both had been. Pierce’s empire had truly crumbled that day, and there had been a quiet interim of peace amidst the remaining families. Oh, there had been some tense moments and some scares, but was nothing like the terror you had been living in that first year.

Bucky had kept his word, and he had kept his family safe.

He was looking at you now, and you could see in his eyes he was thinking the same things as you.

“I feel like I’m gonna blink and it’s going to be five years later. Then ten. Danny’s already so grown up, he’s gonna be in college before we know it.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“No, doll. Never.” Bucky crawled on the bed next to you, and you set the flowers on your nightstand. “This is what I wanted. What _we_ wanted. It just tells me to slow down and enjoy these moments while they last. Like this one here, with you.”

Then he was straddling your hips and nuzzling across your jaw, whispering to you in Romanian, declarations of his love or sexual obscenities, you weren’t sure which.

And you didn’t much care.

“You…are wearing far too many clothes,” you gasped as he nipped at your throat.

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

Clothes hit the floor and you fell back against the sheets as he worshiped your body, eyes blown black with want. Little kitten licks down your chest as his fingers teased you, your body electric with his touch. Not to be outdone, you took him in hand and he moaned heavily against your mouth.

“God…even now, I can’t keep my hands off of you,” he panted. “The things you do to me…”

Grinding harder into you now, more earnest. He shuddered as you stroked him, bringing him close to where you needed him most.

“Please…I want you. I need you.”

A low growl in your ear as he pushed in, a brute masculinity tempered by soft kisses and playful love bites. He was everywhere, inside you and around you, everything you could feel and hear and smell.

You murmured his name, a prayer that turned into a needy whine as he started to move. A slow, steady cadence, taking his time. Blue grey eyes staring into yours as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, and when he saw you come undone beneath him they fluttered shut, and he fell with you.

After, you lay together in a tangle of limbs. Soft, sweet kisses and tender caresses as you came back down to earth. Tracing over the old scars that you both carried, still in awe that you were both there. Together.

“I am so in love with you.” Bucky lazily kissed your lips, then the tip of your nose, resting his forehead against yours. “The things I’ve done, the life I’ve led—I have no right to even hope for this. What I have now. But I have it. Against all odds, five years later. I honestly can’t believe it’s real sometimes.”

“It’s real. It’s real and it’s ours, and god knows we’ve fought hard enough for it. You deserve the world, James, and I’d give it to you if I could.”

He smiled, tears shining in his eyes. “You already did.”

***

Bucky flopped down under the shade of a tree, laughing until he was nearly breathless. Y/N had challenged him to a race to the top of the hill, but this time she’d beaten him—Danny had insisted on riding his shoulders on the way up.

“Totally doesn’t count,” he panted. “I had a forty pound toddler latched onto me. Next time you’ve got to carry Sophie, too.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Buck, she beat you fair and square.” George puffed as he crested the hill, Winnie and Jacob in tow. His mother just shook her head and started setting out the picnic basket, shooing Danny away when he tried to go for the cookies.

“Lunch first, then dessert, I don’t—George!” She tried to snatch the cookie from her husband’s hand, but he just tipped her a wink and threw the extra cookie to Jacob. Winnie rolled her eyes and handed one to Danny, muttering under her breath about grandparents and bad influences.

Bucky gazed out over the hills as the family tucked into lunch. It was the first time they’d been back to Romania since his honeymoon, and the place still held the timeless quality it always had for him. Moments etched forever in his mind.

Like this one, now. Three generations, two families joined as one.

Against all odds.

Y/N leaned back against him. She had a soft smile on her face, and they both watched as Sophie giggled breathlessly and toddled into Jacob’s waiting arms. Bucky kissed her temple.

From that first moment he’d seen her at the altar to here. That long and arduous journey through some of the deepest, darkest moments of his life, to where he was now, sitting here with his family. Bucky wasn’t sure if he believed in redemption, but this felt close enough to it.

It was real, and it was here, and it was theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for all your support! This was probably the hardest fic I've ever written, there were a lot of firsts for me--first mob/mafia fic, first Bucky AU, and first time with some very dark and traumatic material. All of the encouragement, kudos and comments you guys have sent my way have meant the world to me, and game me the courage to see this thing through. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Thank you all for taking the time to read this! <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And here we go! I’m ridiculously excited about this one, I’ve never written for mob!Bucky before but I’m loving it so far! This is based on a request I received, it'll be about 14 chapters, posted every Sunday. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always welcome, thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @constantwriter85


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